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kissatoru · 6 months ago

Text

𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐆

pairing. sub!werewolf!toji fushiguro x dom!gn!reader

synopsis. stories and fables always warn of the big bad wolf, but personally, you think he makes quite a cute pet.

content. PORN WITH PLOT YAYY, no curses/modern/alternate magic au, bratty asf sub!toji, mean dom!reader, reader is super strong and beats toji’s ass lol, canon-typical violence, cigarette smoking, outdoor sex, degradation, brat-taming, mild pet play, shoe humping, cock stepping, pain kink, s/m dynamic, handjob, edging, pet (?) names (darling, sweetheart [receiving; condescendingly] + pup, puppy, puppy dog [giving; also condescendingly]), anal fingering, spit and cum as lube, spanking, reader refers to themself as ‘master’ once, morally grey + dubcon ending

notes. finally finished!! thank you for your patience til now :,) this fic kinda ran away from me while i was writing it so it’s different to what i initially planned but hopefully people are still into it. also it’s my first time writing toji so i hope i did him justice!! anyway, please consider reblogging if you enjoy<3

wc. 9.2k

The footsteps started when you were about halfway home.

In sync with yours. Heavy yet carefully quiet, faint but noticeable, at least to someone who goes on walks in the woods as often as you. Human, as well — too calculated not to be — and someone with a broader gait, by the sounds of it.

After a few moments of inner-debate, you stop. The footsteps stop too.

Your eyes swiftly scan your surroundings. Nothing — but you keep your guard up as you slip a cigarette out of the tin in your coat’s breast pocket, then a lighter from your trouser pocket. Between your lips, you rest the cigarette and cup your hand over the lighter’s flame. Its warmth is intimate against your cold skin, in both its temperature and familiarity. The thin misty stem of scorched tobacco blooms in the air.

You absentmindedly dig a little divot in the dirt with the tip of your shoe, and chance another curt look around you, but still nothing. Minutes tick by and eventually you decide to resume your walking, though at a more leisurely pace this time. And as you do so, those footsteps return — tenfold. Soft, distant taps turn into violent hits against the earth. Nearer and nearer they draw, but you keep facing forward, not a stutter in your step or a falter in the lazy in and out of smoke.

Until a looming presence enters your peripheral vision.

A blur is your only warning. Then an arm cinches around your throat.

You jab your lit cigarette into the man’s arm. A raspy, “Son of a bitch,” puffs into your ear, but he doesn’t let go.

Okay. Don’t panic. Focus.

You try again. Spread your stance. Secure your grip. Jump, legs in the air, and throw yourself back down. His body hunches over yours. You propel back up. Hurl him over your back.

He grunts as his body slams the ground. You rush to immobilise him. He manoeuvres out of the way.

Back on his feet in seconds, he’s already charging at you. Too fast for you to dodge. You block with your arms. His fist lands like a nuclear bomb. Pure power. All at once. Leaves aftershocks like an earthquake. But still, you stay standing.

Your assailant huffs, something that sounds both pissed off and surprised, before he directs another attack. Straight for your torso.

You catch his wrist and twist it. He thrusts a leg out at your feet.

The forest around you flips upside down. Your back and the ground collide. Pain in your spine. A shadow above you. Weight on your hips. Pressure around your neck.

You grip one of your attacker’s arms. Pivot your feet round his legs. Ram your pelvis upward.

Your vision carousels. You’re on top of him. He pushes you off.

On your feet. Both of you.

A narrow miss, the edge of his knuckles swiping past your temple.

You leap back. He surges forward.

You attack before he does — a roundhouse kick to his face.

The assailant’s head spins ninety degrees. He brings a hand up to his nose, sharply inhaling as he touches it, before turning back to you.

He swings again. You knock it away. Strike his diaphragm. Then his skull.

He doubles over. You double down. Spear your knee into his face. Once. Twice. Three times. Full force, no respite. You aim for his diaphragm again with the heel of your foot.

He stumbles backwards and hits a tree. His body slumps to the ground.

He goes to get up. You pin your shoe to his sternum and shove him back. “Stay down.” You lean forward, his rib cage fighting against the compression. “Who are you? Why are you attacking me?”

Blood oozes down his chin from his nose. “Why d’ya think I’d tell you anything?”

You answer with a backhanded smack across his face.

He coughs at the impact and spits out the blood in his mouth. “Feisty, aren’t ya?” His lips stretch into a vengeful smile, laying bare his orange-stained teeth.

That’s when you notice a distinguishable scar, thick and ridged, spliced through his lip. Next, his teeth — tapered, dog-like. Then the pointy mammal ears sticking out of his hair, the furry black tail resting beside him…

There’s no doubt in your mind. It’s him. World renowned assassin: Hellhound, the Sorcerer Killer. Half-man, half-wolf; rumoured to be the only one of his kind. Willing to do anything for the right price is his motto. Until now, you’ve only ever heard of him, but now that you’re face to face… Well, he certainly looks the part, but if he was really as good as people say he is, your current positions would likely be reversed.

“I take it my reputation precedes me?” Toji pipes up cockily, apparently picking up on the recognition in your stare.

You avoid the question, lest it feeds the ego that is undoubtedly big enough already. “How much are you getting paid?”

Toji wipes the blood under his nose and looks up at you. “Not enough to be dealing with all this, tha’s for sure,” he remarks snidely.

You fold your arms across your chest. “Then I’m sure you won’t mind giving me the details of your employer.”

“Nah,” Toji argues back with slitted eyes and a chin angled up arrogantly. “Afraid I’m bound by contract, sweetheart.”

You smack him again, but all it does is garner a chuckle.

“If slapping me’s as far as you’re willin’ to go to get me to talk,” Toji scoffs before gazing up at you, “then we’re gonna be here a while, darlin’.”

Eyes narrowed, you contemplate other courses of action, different methods of both torture and persuasion.

As if embracing his current position, Toji rests back against the tree, casual despite the circumstances being everything but. “Look. You’re not gonna get me to rat out my client, alright? So unless you wanna start talking numbers, I suggest you just give–”

Your boot stomps down on Toji’s groine.

His jaw drops open and an almost inaudible moan spills out. “Ah… fuck.”

Not quite the reaction you were going for. Still, you curiously lean your leg forward, pressing the sole of your shoe down harder against Toji’s crotch. His head slumps forward, dark hair curtaining over his eyes. A barely-suppressed groan finds its way out of him.

“No way,” you breathe, incredulous. “You like this, don’t you?” You stifle a laugh. “What, not every day you get your ass handed to you, huh? I bet you didn’t even know you were into this.”

He peers up at you, grin flashing like a switchblade. “Don’t act like you’re any better.”

“Oh, I don’t have to act like it.” You roll your foot around in focused circles, watching how Toji’s breath gets heavier with each one. Your silhouette towers over him, tall and proud; carving its shape into the veil of moonlight behind you. All your features melt away in the shadows draped over your face — all except your smile, which perseveres with deadly determination and even deadlier teeth. They’re not anything special, sure; they don’t hold a light to Toji’s, yet they instil a sense of unease that someone of his size and strength and species is entirely unfamiliar with. And as he watches your tongue glide across the edge of them, shining and sinister, he realises that maybe it’s not the teeth themselves that are the threat. Maybe it’s what lies behind them; the person they belong to, who is staring down at him like a tiger eyeing a pound of flesh.

“You’re the one whose pitiful dick is under my boot right now, after all.”

Matted black ears tuck back against his head, just as any cornered animal’s might, as Toji scowls up at you. “Shut up. You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

You look him up and down, from the tips of his twitchy ears to the bottom of his fluffy tail. The pinkening of his cheeks, his glossy eyes staring up at you. Puppylike. “I’d say I have a pretty good idea actually,” you say, holding in a giggle.

Toji snarls. “I’m warning y…” A breathy moan slips past his defences, so delicate you’d never suspect it could come from a man as big and burly as him. “Fuck– fuck you. If you’re gonna touch me, at least do it properly, you fucking… coward.”

His glare melts into scrunched eyebrows and squeezed-shut eyes as you sink more pressure onto his cock.

“Why would I do that? You seem to be enjoying yourself just fine like this,” you tease, and follow it with a quickened but not yet fast pace; something steady enough to not be teasing but slow enough to keep him wanting.

Toji growls. “Bastard,” he spits, but the word’s intention is lost in the air that flutters around it, turning it soft and feeble as his jaw quivers. Another brief second of honesty, a momentary crack in his composure, but that locked jaw returns as soon as Toji notices it. The look on his face is unchanged, but you’re not sure if it’s because he truly believes he’ll come out on top by the end of this, or if he’s just waiting for you to prove you’re worthy of his surrender.

“It’s not enough,” he pants out. His hands clench into fists around the soil he sits in as his hips move against your shoe. It’s still not discreet enough to go unnoticed by you — though you opt to avoid mentioning it, in favour of continuing down the path of opportunity he’s already opened up for you with his response.

“No, I think it is,” you insist, syncing your foot’s movements to Toji’s hips. Already so lost in the moment, he doesn’t even realise it. “I think you could cum just like this, riding my shoe like a worthless whore.”

Clawed fingers and calloused palms constrict around your calf. The tightness of his grip gives the impression that he’s trying to stop you, but you can feel the way he uses it to meet his grinding motions.

It’s quite the show, really. A man — a beast — like Toji, beneath you in such a way, with his eyes closed in oblivious concentration, his lips parted ever so slightly and his strained breaths hot against your shin. Dark lashes on rosy cheeks. Hair swept across his eyes, shifting with every movement.

It’s too bad it can’t last.

What you said certainly implies that you plan to make him finish like this, but all it really is is a trap. No beast can truly resist temptation, after all, and Toji is no different. He’ll pretend to hate every second of this, but there is no denying that the only reason you’ve gotten this far is because he wants it. Desperately. Carnally. He might scowl at your degrading words, but in the end, he chases after the promise that’s whispered over their shoulder, the promise that he longs for so deeply that he doesn’t realise its hushed voice is really his own in disguise.

You rake your fingers through his hair, collecting sweat and the strands obscuring his face into a fist. A yank drags his face into the moonlight, and a groan from his throat. “Alright, that’s enough,” you declare, the words cutting and final. “Get off me, fleabag.”

Toji’s lip curls up in a snarl and his canines gleam beneath the pale skin. “The fuck d’ya mean ‘that’s enough’?”

You scoff. “Exactly that.” Darkness drips over Toji’s face as you lean over him. “Now get off of me before I fucking make you.”

For a second, you think you’ll need to repeat yourself one more time — his eyes are narrowed and his lips pursed, a look of reluctance if you’ve ever seen it — but then the hands around your leg loosen, until all that’s left behind is the autumn breeze against the lingering imprint of his warm palms. The grin you find yourself wearing is so wide you feel your teeth pressing through your lips. A brat’s obedience, no matter how small, is always a victory worth celebrating.

“So what now?” Toji sighs and leans back on his hands, legs still spread. Boredom sculpts his features, but the colour in his cheeks betrays his façade. Try as he might, he’s not nearly as good at hiding his true desires as he thinks. And when you only smile in response, he raises an eyebrow. “Well?” A scarred hand confidently slides down to the space between his thighs, the thick fingers parting and tracing the silhouette of his hard cock. Wolfish fangs pull at his bottom lip and a harsh breath rushes out through his nose. “You just gonna stand there… or are you gonna come and finish what you started?”

You lean your weight back, arms folded across your chest, and chuckle. “I can’t really win, can I?” you say with playful resignation. “Either way, you’ll enjoy it.”

He grins — the kind of shit-eating grin that’s designed to scorch your nerves down to their roots. Whether that’s a good or a bad kind of sensation depends entirely on the person. In Toji’s case? It’s somehow both.

“Better make your choice quick then,” Toji remarks, his tone equal parts raspy and sultry. “If ya don’t hurry, I’ll just finish myself off right here and now.” The tip of his tongue peeks out between his sharp moonlit teeth, mirroring your action from before.

You snicker and give him a pitied once-over. “Darling, I assure you that’s not the threat you think it is.”

Furry ears jerk in place as Toji sucks his teeth. “Get down here and suck my cock before I rip your throat out then.” The words tumble out of him like he’s rushing to get them out — evidence of his growing desperation, or perhaps of his courage, waning in the imminent promise of consequence.

“There,” he says with finality, lips stretched into a half-cocky, half-frustrated snarl. “‘That threatenin’ enough for ya now, bitch?”

You swiftly snatch his face up in one hand and Toji flinches — just a split-second scrunch of his eyes, but it’s enough to tell you caught him off guard. You’re not really acting out of anger so much as greed though; craving and chasing after those tiny yet monumentally satisfying slip-ups in his reactions. “You are awful mouthy for some dog that was humping my foot until a minute ago.”

“Yeah, and?” he barks back, with enough gall to still be smiling against your palm. “What are you gonna do about it, huh?”

Suppressing another laugh, you draw closer to him; not quite eye-level, just ever so slightly elevated. “You know, it’d be kind of cute how badly you want me to fuck you if you weren’t so fucking insufferable about it.” Your nails, though blunt in comparison to Toji’s claws, carve impressive crescents into his skin under the force of your tensed fingers. “But don’t forget that you’re below me, mutt. I can stop any time. I can go home and never think about you again, but you?” You laugh through your nose and push his skull into the bark of the tree behind him. A clawed hand clamps around your wrist, but you don’t move an inch. “You’ll be the one jerking off in the middle of a fucking forest, like some filthy creep, fantasising about all the things I didn’t do to you but could have had you just stopped being a brat for one goddamn second.”

An airy breath leaves you, charged with equal parts exasperation and glee and resulting in something akin to a laugh. The mockery behind the noise fails to affect Toji, however. Those night-black ears remain flat against his skull, and those indigo eyes remain glaring at you, but the tightly-sealed lips below them tell you he’s biting his tongue — figuratively, though perhaps also literally. It doesn’t seem too far of a stretch to assume he’d go to such lengths to keep from arguing back, after all.

You smooth your free hand over your hair and readjust the grip of the other on Toji’s face. He grunts at the action, but those lips don’t budge, not even a twitch. The silence that follows is unfamiliar, but not completely unwelcome. Even rewarding, in a way.

“So what’s it gonna be, puppy dog?” you ask lazily, though not without that telltale flicker of amusement in your voice. “Are you gonna be a good boy?” You tilt your head and smirk. “Or would you prefer to jizz here in the dirt with just your hand and imagination like a pathetic loser instead?”

You feel how he grinds his teeth, that slow mechanical shift of his jaw and the muffled chalky sound of bone grating against bone in his mouth. Curiosity beckons you to wonder what’s going on inside that head of his; what words he’s rummaging through his mind for, what kind of responses he’s drafting and redrafting, if any at all. What does a beast of his calibre have to say to a lowly human like you, daring to tame and subdue him?

In the darkness below your form, you catch a cautionary rise and fall of his hips. Just one small short nudge of his pelvis, forwards then back again. And before you can comment on it, Toji speaks, low and not entirely begrudgingly:

“Put me in my place then.”

Immediately, your lips slide into a smile, but you restrain from getting too excited just yet. “Is that an order? Or a plea?”

Midnight eyes dart away from yours; no words follow.

“Well? Answer me,” you snap at him. “You can do it now or I can just leave, remember? Either option is fine by me.”

Toji groans. “It’s… I’m– I’m asking.” He sighs heavily and the hand around your wrist loosens, twitches. He still refuses to look at you amidst this all, it seems. But you wait some more, let the silence linger a little longer, just in case.

He sighs again. Still doesn’t look at you, but a quiet little, “Please,” squeezes through gritted teeth.

“Can I get that in a full sentence?” you say, polite enough to seem genuine at first, but paired with that condescending grin of yours, it’s not at all convincing. “I just want to be sure I’m understanding you correctly.”

Toji’s eyes finally return to yours. “You’re pushing your fucking luck,” he growls.

“Oh, I am? I’m pushing my luck?” You pause, but not to let him answer; on your face is a look that tells him he’s the one pushing his luck, that he’s misstepped — and should take that step back before he regrets it. “Sorry, who’s doing who a favour by being here, again?” You’re no longer smiling, but the condescension in your tone remains. “Remind me because I seem to have forgotten.”

His eyes flick away and you’re met instead with the silence you have grown somewhat fond of.

Then, eventually: “You,” he answers and his Adam’s apple bumps against your wrist as he swallows. “I want you to…” He hesitates, tense neck muscles relaxing in your hand, eyes closing, pressing shut. Hard. Reluctant, even now.

“To put me in my place… Please.”

A sickeningly delighted snicker escapes your throat. “Well done, puppy,” you praise, giving a few patronising pats to his cheek, making Toji flinch, before you let go of his face. “I knew you could do it! Who’s a good boy?” You ruffle his hair alongside your fake coo to rub salt into his wounded ego.

Toji sucks his teeth, refusing to give you the satisfaction of anything other than that as a reaction to your satirical tease. You just hum to yourself gleefully. You’re happy either way — you have him right where you want him, after all.

You stand up straight, returning to your position above him. “Alright. Be a doll and take your pants off for me.”

A scarred lip tugs up toward his cheekbone, canine teeth peering out. “No ‘please’?”

Easy as that, the cheerful expression on your face distils into stone cold eyes and unmoving lips, leaving the wordless air to speak for you. Briskly after, Toji begins sliding off his black pants until they bunch up at his ankles. He looks up at you. “Want my shoes off too, perv?” he jokes, proudly grinning.

Ignoring him, you step over his legs, so your feet are either side of them, then sit down. His thighs squirm under you.

“Uh, what–”

“Be quiet,” you demand.

And for once, Toji does so without further hesitation or questioning.

Your fingertips trail down his torso, his skin spasming under the fabric of his t-shirt at the featherlight contact. Down his chest, stomach, navel, catching on the waistband of his underwear, passing over it. Fingers dance and butterfly around the outline of his cock and back again. Slow and gentle but purposeful touches. His chest stutters, his abdominal muscles contract. You continue, motions repeating in hypnotic succession of one another like shifting waves. The thighs beneath you begin to fidget again.

“Stay still,” you say with a pointed look.

A restrained groan. “When are you gonna–”

“Whenever I damn well feel like it,” you scold, “but not at all if you don’t watch yourself.” You make sure to give him another sharp glare before you resume.

Elastic gives under the pull of your fingers and glides down his hips until they tuck under his balls. Cool air envelopes his cock and yanks a hiss out from between Toji’s teeth. Your fingers spread again, over the exposed tip, then back again to paint small circles around the wet slit.

A blunt thump brings your attention to Toji’s face, where the foliage above projects its fragile forms onto it. His head is tilted back against the tree behind him, mussed furry ears flush against the bark and restlessness manipulating the rest of his features. The shameless clarity of his struggle fans the flames of your excitement.

Your fingers change shape again and wrap loosely around Toji’s length. The edge of a harsh sigh catches on the ends of your hair, brushing it up as you move your hand down, and up, then down again. The writhing of his thighs dominoes into his hips, which jump up, seemingly involuntarily.

Just this once, you choose not to indulge in your own selfish enjoyment — as a reward for his almost exclusively obedient behaviour since you began touching him — and mercifully grant Toji the relief of your whole hand, curling it to fit around the shape of his dick. A half-cut-off gasp unfolds in the space between you, but nothing more. You smile nonetheless. “Does that feel good?”

Toji’s head adjusts against the tree, eyelids pinching and tightening. “What kinda question is that? F’course it does.”

You hum. “Just wanted to make sure you’re still responsive.”

Toji opens his eyes, hooded but still catching the moonlight, to flash you a confident look. “You won’t break me that easily.”

Yet his self-assured tone cracks when you suddenly tighten your grip around him and hasten your pace.

“Wait, don’t– not that fast–” He gasps and reaches for your wrist, but you swat it away. You change the pace again, and again. Soft, hard, slow, quick. And all Toji can do is mutter expletives and squeeze his fists around handfuls of dirt.

“I’m… close,” Toji warns breathily.

“Really?” you snort. Granted, you’d teased him for a while before this, but you’re still shocked. He must have been more into this than even you had noticed. “You must be popular in the bedroom, huh?” you quip. “They call you Two-Minute-Toji?”

Thick eyebrows furrow as a half-hearted snarl seeps out from Toji’s lips. “God, do you ever shut–” He moans and grabs at your thighs, the tips of his claws piercing through your clothing. “I’m gonna cum, oh, fuck–”

Your touch vanishes before Toji’s words can come true, allowing you to watch the ecstasy melt off his face in real time. A series of emotions pass through in its place: first confusion, then realisation until, finally, disappointment. Outrage. Desperation.

Maybe you’re just sadistic, but you find it to be a good look on him.

In the spur of the moment, Toji attempts to finish what you so cruelly and prematurely left incomplete, but you capture his wrists and raise up on your knees to pin them above his head.

“Shit!” he exclaims, wide chest still sinking and swelling from his near-high. “What the fuck’s your problem? Why’d you stop?”

Exactly the kind of response you’d expected, of course. An entirely reasonable one at that, but still — you’re unable to fend off the smirk that grows at the sight of it. This is just the start, and he’s already so upset? Shivers take over you at the thought of how unprepared he is for the torture to come.

“You made me work for what I want. It’s only fair I get to do the same to you,” you explain matter-of-factly. “And the sooner you accept that, the easier it will be.”

Toji’s ears flap with vexation; you’re sure he only means to be angry, but to you, he resembles a sulking puppy.

You release his hands and move them to his shoulders. “So here’s how this is gonna go,” you start cheerily. “When you’re close, you tell me. Don’t, and I’ll ruin your beloved orgasm, right then and there!” You pinch his cheek in a faux-flirty way. “Got that, my little mutt?”

Toji frowns with something like judgement. “What sort of sick game is this?”

“Does it really matter so long as you cum at the end?” you counter, but Toji remains unconvinced.

“‘Course it does,” he replies. “What’s the point in making me wait if I can have it now?”

Such simplistic, almost childlike logic; it makes you giggle. “The point is a little thing called delayed gratification,” you say in that typical patronising tone, the one that Toji has become so dreadfully accustomed to.

“Delayed for who?” He eyes you, up and down. “You’re loving every second of this.”

You giggle again. “Oh, come on,” you beckon. “Don’t you want to know how good it feels?” One of your hands drops down his torso and Toji’s eyes follow just in time to see it curl its fingers around the drooling head of his cock. “Being denied over and over, that tension building higher and higher each time…” His jaw quivers when you slowly twist your wrist. “How sensitive you get, how desperate…” You drag and pull. Twist again. “And the rush of not knowing if this time you’ll get to cum…”

Toji grunts as his dick slaps against his stomach.

“Or be denied again!” Your laugh then is inevitable, but still it feels too sweet and innocent of a sound, given the cause of it is a man’s torment.

“Okay, enough. You’ve made your point,” Toji says in a flurry, before you can add anything else. “Stop talking and just…” You hear him swallow and study the way it makes the muscles of his neck ripple. “Show me.”

Those two words are the starting pistol to your well-earned entertainment — and Toji’s well-deserved misery. Your experienced and adaptable hands, paired with your watchful eyes and insatiable desire to inflict suffering, make for a dangerous concoction. And the fact that Toji is oblivious to that knowledge just makes the thrill of it all the more invigorating. Still, you pace yourself; remind yourself that patience may be bitter, but its fruit is sweet and lies waiting for you. Time is the least of your worries and the forest around you topples amidst the routine you’ve choreographed for you both. You work him up, soaking in his helplessness, and pull the floor out from under him when he’s at his most vulnerable, watching how that helplessness snowballs and the cycle repeats; watching him groan, gasp, whimper and curse under his breath. Like a feline playing with its food, you relish every moment of it, all while dreaming of how good it will taste once you finally feast.

“Close, so close, so close,” Toji mumbles. “M’gonna cum–”

Your hand jolts away from his dripping cock and with it, Toji’s hips buck up so hard, so desperately, that your knees lose contact with the ground for a second.

“How many times is that now?” you ask. You already know how many, you just want to make him say it.

Body slack against the tree, Toji’s eyes blink slowly at you. “F–four,” he says with a weak wince. “Fuck. When are you gonna let me cum?”

You make a contemplative noise. “I don’t know,” you say as you boredly doodle patterns on Toji’s shirt. “Maybe after… four or five more times?”

“You’re fucking joking,” Toji chokes out in disbelief, but that sincere gleam in your eyes stays. He runs a palm down his face. You don’t miss the way his tinted face saturates. “That’s– nine times? Are you crazy? That’s not–” His throat feels like it’s all dried up. He steadies his voice. “There’s… no way I’m waiting that long.”

“No?” you echo, your eyebrows raised. “Is it too much to handle for Two-Minute-Toji?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Toji hisses. “It’s nothing to do with me. You’re just insane.”

So defensive, you think, amused, but don’t let it show. Instead, you sit back thoughtfully. “I guess you have a point,” you agree. Meanwhile, your hands gain a mind of their own, caressing his hips, abdomen, inner thighs; brushing up against his dick every so often. “Four times is already quite a lot…” Finally, your gaze falls to your unforgiving fingers, where you’ve been toying at the cusp of Toji’s composure. “Just one more then,” you compromise and glimpse at Toji.

He doesn’t hide the irritated noise he makes at your offer, but he does think twice about his instinctual reply — which ends up being futile, since he chooses to say it anyway.

“You’re delusional if you think I’ll agree to that.”

You tilt your head and blink at him. “So… you want to cum now, is what you’re saying?” you ask, and Toji opens his mouth to answer but you suddenly grab his cock with a tight fist — and not the pleasurable kind. His jaw clamps shut, a slice of whistling air rushing in through his teeth. A paw-like hand whips out next, attempting to get rid of yours, but you slap it away and use your other hand to engulf the head of his cock in just as cruel a hold.

“Would cumming now make the spoiled mutt happy?” you mock.

His attempts to remove your hands persist, but each time you just push him away and squeeze harder. “Ah, shit, that fucking– hurts, you asshole! Let go–”

“Answer the question first,” you say sternly.

Toji’s thighs are thrashing now, and his hands have resorted to clinging onto your arms. His breaths leave him as hard as if he was on the verge of climax; the irony makes you laugh inwardly.

“Fuck, fine,” Toji heaves. “Yes, yes I want to cum now. Let me cum. Please.”

You keep your hands on him for a second longer than probably necessary before finally letting go. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” you say with a grin.

Talking back again crosses Toji’s mind, but he thinks better of it. “Whatever. Just… get on with it already.”

As with the previous four times, getting him to the edge again doesn’t take long. Especially since now you’re armed with the knowledge of where he’s most sensitive, what he likes best and how much to do of each to get the most debauched sounds out of him. You have him panting and rolling his hips in time with your hands in just a few short minutes. One hand on your shoulder, the other carving gashes into a tree root bulging out of the soil; a reminder of Toji Fushiguro’s monstrous nature.

It’s easy to forget you’re taming a beast when he’s so pathetic all of the time.

“Ah, ah, I’m close,” Toji moans. His knuckles go taut-white, then relax, then repeat. In the throes of pleasure, his baritone voice has softened into something lighter. “F–fuck, I’m gonna cum! I wan– I wanna cum!”

The next upward stroke of your hand slides the rest of the way off, yet again depriving Toji of the orgasm he keeps chasing. In its absence, the reddened tip of his cock drools a drop of precum.

Toji shouts, gravelly and breathless, into the open air. “No! No, what– what the fuck?!” There seems to be a wetness in his eyes, but you think it could just be a trick of the light. “You… you said you’d let me cum this time!”

“Did I say that?” you muse — recalling very vividly, in fact, that you conveniently never said those words. Whether or not that was on purpose is anybody’s guess, since you doubt Toji’s foggy brain remembers such semantics. “I don’t think I did.”

Toji scowls at you, but his aggravation runs off of you like water on a duck’s back; you can’t take him too seriously when his face is so flushed, cheeks practically aglow with colour and slowly spreading down his neck. A quick tongue swipes over his lips, which have gone dry from the progressively increasing frequency of open-mouthed noises.

Out of something akin to instinct or impulse, you find yourself leaning in — close. Until you’re brushing noses, lips only inches from each other, sharing the same breath of air. Silver-blue eyes flick down your face and linger a little too long to be accidental.

You pull away, laughing.

“You are way too fun to toy with,” you mutter, more to yourself than to Toji before looking up at him. “Did you think I was gonna kiss you just then?”

“No,” Toji sputters out, appearing offended that you would even think such a thing. “I’d bite your tongue off if you tried.”

His threat only makes you chuckle. “We’ll see how much longer you can keep up that attitude,” you say, scrunching up the front of his t-shirt in your fist, “once I’m through with you.”

Your lips collide so immediately that you almost don’t realise Toji is the one to close the final rift of space between you. Like a volatile chemical reaction, the kiss escalates. Potent, rabid, vulgar. Animalistic. Teeth nip at flesh, blood and saliva blend and smear down chins.

At the same time, your hand occupies itself with the same delectable song and dance you’ve come to know so well. The prelude — an open palm, skimming across the head of Toji’s cock; a dainty back and forth, like a bow across violin strings, and Toji’s noises a melody writing itself on your lips. You steer the flow of his sound like a conductor with a symphony, building the bridge, climbing towards the chorus, the crescendo just in sight… Then with a flourish, it all descends back down again, hushed into a temporary interlude, before ebbing into a reprise. Over and over, you play this orchestrated tune; over and over and over, until each note has been played to its fullest and rang out into silence.

Eventually, you get up.

Left in your wake, beneath you, Toji is a mess of the man he was. Eyes glazed over. Lips pink and damp. Cock blushing, slick, swollen. Hips jumping in search of relief. It took denying him almost ten times, but regardless, he’s all yours now. Pliant and at your mercy, like a common prey animal.

“Roll over, boy,” you say, just like you would to an actual dog, as you make a circling gesture with your finger. “I want you on your hands and knees.” You tap his bare thigh with the side of your shoe. “Go on. Hands and knees. Like a good little dog.”

Shakily, Toji turns around. Soil pools around his knees where they sink. One hand wraps around that same scratched up root from before, the other braces against the base of the tree. His head hangs limp between his shoulders.

You kneel behind him and tug his underwear down his toned thighs. Goosebumps multiply over Toji’s exposed skin, first at the breeze that briefly grazes it, next at the fingers that replace it. Both your hands span out across the expanse of Toji’s ass, a soothing sensation against the goosebumps despite being so foreign to him. Your thumbs wander away from the rest of your fingers and toward the patch of skin between his tail and the base of his spine. Experimentally, the pads of your thumbs grind down into it.

Toji makes a noise that could arguably be classified as a yelp and his tail bushes up, almost hitting you in the face with how skittishly it swings out.

“W–watch it,” Toji whinges. “Don’t be so rough.”

“Oh? Is it sensitive?” you taunt.

Even now, on all fours with his bare ass in front of you, the embers of Toji’s pride prevent him from admitting even the slightest implications of weakness. You, however, are no stranger to such behaviour, and do not let it deter you from your goal.

Your thumbs continue wandering, dipping below his tail. They rotate inward, pulling apart the thick meat of his ass to reveal a soft, puckered hole. You succumb to temptation and prod at it. It tenses, along with the rest of Toji’s muscles.

Toji turns his head over his shoulder. “What are you doing?” he breathes, almost sounding worried or angry, definitely trying to sound assertive — but you can tell he’s more nervous than anything. Flustered, even.

You pause. “Do you want me to stop?”

His features contort, as if perplexed. “It’s weird.” He turns back around. “Don’t even know why you would wanna touch back there.”

The reason is simple to you. “Because it feels good.” Thoughtlessly, you knead your thumb against the virgin hole, observing how it clenches, as if inviting you in. “Inside, I mean,” you clarify.

“Ins– inside?” Toji repeats, like the concept is unfathomable to him. “Like, inside of– me?”

“Yeah,” you deadpan, though, admittedly, you are somewhat entertained. Perhaps he truly is so oblivious that it skews his logical thinking, but you suspect that the true cause is the lust that clouds his mind. Whether from his need for release or from a late-onset sexual epiphany, you find it almost endearing how naïve and innocent his response makes him seem. “So… Can I keep going?”

“Uh…” Toji, subconsciously, it seems, arches his back ever so slightly in your direction. “Yeah, okay,” he mutters.

“In that case,” you usher and place a hand between his shoulder blades, “lower your chest for me some more.”

With the sheer density of muscle fibre beneath your fingertips alone, those defined contours mapped out across his broad back, visible even through his clothes, you expect some resistance — but he gives like freshly fallen snow, without so much as a groan of indignation, and yields his form until he’s flush with the ground.

In this position, he opens up on his own. Hole lewdly exposed, as if presenting to you. His tail hangs over it, out of humiliation or to protect his dignity you assume, but with one simple order, you have Toji holding it out of the way for you, making him appear even more pathetic.

Leaning over him, you trickle some saliva onto Toji’s hole. It spasms as the fluid lands on it.

“Did you just spit on–” Toji cuts himself off with an exasperated sigh. “That’s… fucking disgusting.”

“Your tail seems to think otherwise,” you retort, referring to how the appendage subtly wags.

Toji buries his face in the crook of one arm. “That thing’s got a mind of its own.”

Ever so slightly poking out over the top of his bicep, however, is the scarlet tip of one ear.

You chuckle. “Sure.”

With that, you run a fingertip through the slimy fluid, collecting it from where it started dripping down his taint and spreading it out. Tentatively, you nudge your finger inside. The muscle clenches at the breach.

“Relax,” you tell Toji.

He grunts. “What do you think I’m tryna do?”

A rare streak of sympathy has your other hand reaching down to Toji’s cock and planting a few distracting touches. Slowly, the stiffness around your finger eases up, and steadily, you push past each knuckle until it’s seamlessly tucked away inside.

“How much longer…” A soft moan reverberates in the back of Toji’s throat as your finger pulls out of him. “‘T–til I can cum?”

You hum and give a few slothful pumps. “Between two minutes and two hours.” Toji’s subsequent groan of protest makes your smile stretch out like a cat. “Why? You’re not at your limit, are you?”

“You kidding? I could–” You sneak another finger on the next slide in and Toji shudders, gulps. “I could do this all day,” he finishes quietly.

The hand on his dick stops its task momentarily to lather Toji’s precum over your two fingers. You scissor them attentively, observing Toji’s facial reactions; as much as you can, at least, given he’s concealing them. Luckily, though, it seems you won’t need them anyway, with how the rest of his body is uncovering all those secrets for him — the fingers around his tail flexing, hips rocking back against your fingers, dick leaking incessantly despite your minimal touches. To think he’s already so weak to his lustful desires when you haven’t even skirted that particular place inside him; the one you’ve intentionally been avoiding.

“Are you sure you can take any more?” you tease. “It seems to me like–”

“I can take whatever you give me,” Toji interrupts gratingly.

You wonder if he can hear how ruined he sounds, but suppose that even if he does, he likely doesn’t see the humour in it that you do.

“We’ll see about that.”

After adding some more spit, you’re easing in a third finger. Just as you predicted, Toji’s body wriggles more restlessly under you. Breaths staggering as you bump into the hilt of your fingers. You bend them probingly and it lures out a fluttery moan.

Your eyes flit over Toji’s form, lips taking the shape of a salacious smile. “How are you doing over there?”

But before he has the time to even think of a witty reply, he’s tearing new claw marks into the tree bark and whining out, not unlike a dog in heat — which, in some ways, is not far from reality.

“Wow. I didn’t think you were capable of making a sound like that,” you comment. In truth, you’ve always had a knack for turning even the most unsuspecting of victims into your needy little toys; the only difference between them is how long it takes to do so. “Mind making it again?” you purr.

Regardless of what Toji’s answer may have been — though you predict it would have been something snippy or dismissive — your fingers are once again prying out a frail whine from him as he barely manages to maintain his grip on his tail.

You pull your fingers out, almost all the way, and when you push them back in again, you have your pinky finger join, poking at the edge of Toji’s entrance. “Think you can take one more?”

Toji whimpers at your suggestion. “Fuck, yes please,” he begs — something even you had begun doubting you could get him to do, and so is all the more gratifying to hear.

And just like that, you have the deadly mercenary, Toji Fushiguro, better known as Hellhound, the mighty Sorcerer Killer, riding four of your fingers like he was made for nothing else. Whining and whimpering — two things that no one would believe he did if you told them. Dribbling a puddle of his arousal into the dirt below him even in the absence of your hand. Tail jerking uncontrollably, occasionally slipping from his hold and earning himself an admonishing spank, which only serves to break him down further.

A shaking hand clasps onto your wrist, driving its thrusting motions harder and deeper into himself. “God, I’m gonna cum,” Toji sobs. “Please let me cum, please, please.”

His words make you realise that you never actually answered his question from before. Not really, not seriously. In the grand scheme of things, sure, it was always in your plan to let him cum; an irrefutable certainty. And, as large as your appetite is, you’ve had your fill now — are brimming with it, in fact — but Toji doesn’t know that, and that’s what makes you smile. Even now, you long to overflow with the joy of terrorising him. Even now, you fail to turn a deaf ear to the siren call of your deepest, darkest, most lecherous desires. In all your differences, this weakness, this unquenchable yearning of the flesh, is one that you and Toji are both cursed with.

You lean over the muscular man below you, just enough so your hot breath beats over his back. “Only good dogs get to cum,” you murmur as your fingers bully that awfully euphoric cluster of nerves, “and good dogs can beg better than that.”

Sweat permeates off him in waves and you can’t tell if the goosebumps on his skin are from the outdoor air blowing on the moisture or from the embarrassment of the demeaning act that he’s about to commit, all to appease his meagre human wants.

Cheek trapped against the dirt, Toji’s teeth flash on full display as he whimpers out. “Ahh, fuck, m’sorry… I don’t deserve it… but please let me– let me cum.” Wet eyelashes, all clumped together and satiny, flutter as Toji’s eyes fight to stay open. “M’so sorry. I’ll do anything, please.”

Anything. So vague and all-encompassing; only a small-minded fool would make the mistake of promising ‘anything’. And small-minded fools? Well, you’re not one yourself, but you certainly know your way around making one. And Toji Fushiguro, your latest little project, is no exception, it seems; he may not know it, but he’s just fulfilled a bittersweet prophecy.

Indeed — ‘anything’ is a truly wonderful word.

“Yeah?” Your pace slows until the sight of Toji’s hole, puffy, stretched and clinging around your fingers, is trackable in immensely vivid and erotic detail. “Will you be my little lapdog?” you chirrup, light and honey-sweet, as if to a beloved pet. “Obey my every word, fulfil my every wish? Be mine and no one else’s?”

The precipitation on Toji’s nape glistens as he feverishly nods his head and pushes back harder onto your fingers. “Yes, yes, I will, I am. I’m yours. All yours.”

From the cunning and brutish Hellhound, Killer of Sorcerers, the half-wolf half-man who is both feared and revered for his domineering power and cutthroat personality, you have sculpted a disciplined and docile little plaything. An irredeemable mongrel, whose generous master’s firm, wise hand has trained him into a lovely pet, worthy of being called a…

“Good boy.”

Toji’s tail convulses between his fingers.

You grin. “Go ahead,” you say with a final encouraging slap to Toji’s ass. “Let it all out for me, pup.”

And he does — so abruptly and intensely that his trembling thighs almost give under him, practically held up by the hand on his tail alone. He cries out so loud that drool flies from his lip and his voice is followed by a slight echo on the wind. Soreness is already making itself known in your wrist, but you don’t stop; you milk him for all he’s worth, coaxing out every last drop until Toji is laying in a heap of soil and his own spend, groaning and pushing your hand away.

From your coat, you fish out a handkerchief and wipe your hands. Then you move Toji onto his back to do the same for him. A ritualistic process that brings a kind of peace to your otherwise tireless, whirring thoughts.

“Sit up for me,” you tell Toji, with a pat to his thigh.

With some help, he does. You smile and rummage through your pockets, searching for… Ah, there it is!

You take out the circular object and shift towards Toji. With practised efficiency, you secure it around his neck and lean back to appreciate the sight: sturdy ebony leather with intricately engraved symbols, topped off with silver fastenings. Such a pretty collar looks perfectly at home on him.

“What– what is this?” Toji slurs.

You stand up and stroll a few feet away from Toji, who’s bound to where he is in his weak post-orgasm state. Unhurriedly, you slide out a cigarette and prop it between your lips. In the corner of your eye, you make sure Toji is looking at you before you hover a finger beneath your cigarette. From it, a flame manifests and lights the butt.

Witnessing horror formulate on a face like Toji’s — on the face of a man like Toji — is nothing less than beautiful. You would pay good money to experience it for the first time again; to pinpoint the moment he comes to realise the terrible situation he’s found himself in, so you can cherish it from start to finish, all over again.

“You’re…” Toji’s shocked tone bleeds into one of ire; his wide eyes shrink into slits. “A Jujutsu Sorcerer.”

Wreathed smoke billows out of your mouth as you chuckle. “That’s right.” You cross your arms, menacing eyes flitting over Toji. “And now, you’re my cute little pet.”

“Pet?” Toji scoffs. “I kill your kind for a living. You think I’m just gonna take this shit from you?” Toji’s hands scramble up the tree behind him as he goes to get up. “You’re fucking dead, Sorcerer. Ya hear me? D–”

He yells out as he falls back down, fur standing on end from the scorching pain that pulses out of the collar around his neck. He wheezes and claws at the leather, curved black nails piercing into glowing red runes — but the pain only amplifies. He tries and tries, but the only damage he succeeds to inflict is a few nicks on his own skin.

“I’d be careful if I were you. Brute force just makes the hex stronger,” you warn with a misleadingly charming smirk. “You’re more likely to cut your own throat open before you manage to put a single split in that collar.”

You would know — it’s not the first time you’ve used it — but Toji, stubborn as ever, continues to wrestle against the collar’s spell until he’s purple in the face. Veins bulging and eyes watery. Clambering to his feet only to tumble back down again, like a baby deer learning to walk.

Eventually, though, he does stop — but he wouldn’t be Toji Fushiguro without maintaining that defiant expression, even while in such a pitiful state.

“I do feel sorry for you, you know,” you admit as you approach Toji, who, going by his expression, doesn’t believe you one bit, “but you must understand, I’m the type of person who always gets what they want.”

“And what’s that, huh?” Toji snipes. “F’me to be your fuckin’ sex slave? Someone to play out all your sick fantasies and take your frustrations out on? ‘That it?”

“Silly dog,” you playfully reprimand and roughly tousle Toji’s already dishevelled hair. He snatches his head away from your touch. “The means don’t always signify the end,” you continue as you saunter past Toji. “Just because I used sexual methods doesn’t mean I have sexual intentions.”

Toji glares at you, half puzzled and half — just straight up pissed. “So what then? What do you want from me?”

Your lips curve around the cigarette before you exhale with a cloudy chuckle. “Oh, you really are adorable sometimes, you know that?”

“Stop fuckin’ around and tell me already,” Toji snarls, teeth bared.

Blatantly dismissing his words, you gradually walk back to Toji and tilt forward over him. “Feisty, aren’t you?” you sneer at him — a callback to the same words he said to you at the start of your encounter. And one that Toji recognises, going by his strained composure. “It’s simple really,” you say conversationally as you straighten back up. “I heard the name ‘Hellhound’, saw the word ‘anything’ next to ‘for the right price’ and I was intrigued. I wanted to have you for myself. To tame the wild beast, defeat the undefeated ‘Sorcerer Killer’. That’s all.” You shrug. “I’m just fortunate I could afford such a conquest.” You smirk down at him. “You sure know how to drive a hard bargain, don’t you, puppy?”

Toji swallows, the action undulating through his throat. His tongue flicks out over his lips. His eyebrows knit densely. “You hired me?”

You blink at him. “Was that not obvious?” you say with a bashful laugh. “Ah, I really did try not to seem too prepared but I’m just a humble Sorcerer! Not an actor.”

As if still processing what’s happening, Toji just stares at you. You half-expect him to blow up any second, but that doesn’t discourage you from provoking him a little more. “I know what you’re thinking,” you say, and on its own, it’s true, but it’s more fun to pretend that it’s not. “Don’t worry, you’ll still get the second half of the deposit, even though– you know, I’m still alive.”

You laugh again and Toji’s eye twitches at the repetitive sound. He doesn’t see what you find so fucking funny that you need to laugh every five seconds but he wishes you’d just shut up already.

“You’re outta your fucking mind,” he whispers bitterly, like a too-late realisation.

“I am, aren’t I?” you quip back with a beaming closed-eye grin. “But don’t act like you’re any better.” Another callback, and just in case it doesn’t ring any bells, you press your shoe down on Toji’s crotch, where the head of his still-pink cock pokes out of his underwear, on display through his unzipped trousers. Like a panther pouring out of the shadows, your teeth reveal themselves from behind your lips in a hungry, bordering on starved, smile. “I’m not the one who’s got a second hard-on right now.”

Your acknowledgement persuades a drop of precum to shyly gather at the tip, triggering an even more shy press of thighs around your shoe. When that fails to sufficiently conceal his shame, Toji grits his teeth and whips his head away from you — but you won’t allow that.

After a final puff of smoke, you grasp Toji’s face and force it back into place: laid bare before you, tear tracks on his dirtied cheeks, dried blood under his nose, eyelashes still shiny with the evidence of his desperation. “Be a good pet,” you say as you hover your burning cigarette above his lips, “and open your mouth for your master.”

His teeth gnash together stubbornly, but, ultimately, he follows your command. Jaw falling open, tongue drooping over his lip, eyes gazing up at you, expectant and waiting. Eagerly waiting.

You make him wait no longer; you bring down the lit end of your cigarette onto Toji’s inviting tongue and twist it. The embers hiss and sizzle, branding a small scarlet circle into the pink muscle. As you pull out the cigarette, satisfied, you tell him:

“That’s my good boy.”

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#IT'S HEEERRREEE #AT LAAAASSTT #ik most people are here for the smut so if anyone actually reads the full 9.2k words i'll actually make out with you btw #!!!!!#dom reader #x dom reader #x male reader #x fem reader #x gn reader #sub toji #sub toji fushiguro #sub jjk #sub jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #toji smut #toji x reader #( ★ ) my stuff.

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unformula1 · 27 days ago

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promises - 1 (ln4)

part 2 || you and lando used to be best friends, but you two drifted apart. (1464 words) a/n: im back ! should i make a part 2?? || masterlist

You and Lando used to be friends. Best friends, one might say. The two of you were inseparable. Every Friday night, without fail, both of you would meet up at the playground near the central district of your hometown. The playground would usually be empty, with most children staying in with their parents. This gave you and Lando the whole playground, all to yourselves.

It was perfect to make the purest memories. Just two kids, pure innocence and naivety, and a friendship which felt like forever. You’d talk about which toy cars were the better ones, he’d always say the orange ones. You two would laugh about the silliest things, and promise each other to be friends forever.

You two grew up together, went through the teenage years with each other, there in the highs and lows. Every Friday night became every night. You two would see each other daily, at the same playground. As both of you matured, so did your conversations, you two started talking about your love lives, your future.

Both of you sat on the ground, leaning against the wooden base of the slide which both of you used to ride together.

~~~

“I mean… It seems pretty cool.” You tell him.

“It is.” Lando confirms, “I’ve been doing it since I was a small kid, just zooming around.”

You chuckle as Lando mimics driving a go-kart.

“You see yourself driving them forever?” You ask, shifting closer to him.

“Hell yeah.” He replies confidently, not a single ounce of doubt in his voice.

“Alright then.” You smile, “Go for it.”

“You’ll be there right?” He asks you.

“I will. You’ll remember me right?”

“Yes.”

~~~

Both of you made promises, whether they were the shallowest things or the deepest feelings. He never left you alone, you never made fun of him for the quirky things he liked. He stood by you when the worst was brought upon you, when you cried about some stupid boy not liking you back, when you lost your only ticket to your dream university.

~~~

You sat on the floor of his room, wiping away the dried up tears on your face. You’ve never felt this vulnerable to anyone. He lays down next to you and props himself up onto his elbow, looking at you. You glance back at him as he fiddles with his hair.

“Are you gonna keep staring at me?” You ask, letting out a soft chuckle as you continue to wipe off your tears.

“Sorry.” He replies, laughing a little, “They don’t deserve you anyway.”

He sits up and shrugs.

“You could do better.” He deadpans.

Your lips curve up ever so slightly.

“Well-” You sigh, “I guess I’ll stay here forever.”

Both of you laugh again.

“So will I.”

~~~

But he didn’t. Lando Norris left the town in pursuit of greater things.

“You’re leaving?” The realisation hits you.

He sheepishly nods.

Your emotions are all jumbled up into one big mess, everything just engulfing your heart as tears start falling.

“Oh-” Lando says before hugging you tightly.

You hug him back, your tears staining his sweater.

“C’mon now… don’t get all teary on me.” Lando says, clearing stifling down sobbing sounds.

You can’t let out any words.

~~~

It finally came a few months later. You stood in the airport, face to face with Lando. You felt the overwhelming feeling of nostalgia, letting all the memories from the youngest ages of childhood flow through your head as you closed your eyes, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes.

He looks at you with his stupid little grin, his eyes getting watery as he purses his lips, taking in deep breaths.

You run up to him and hug him, for what might be the last time ever. It’s a tight hug, one surrounded by years of friendships and years of memories all building up. He sobs on your shoulder, jerking slightly each sob as you grip tightly to him, never wanting to let go.

But you have to. Both of you take a step back. Lando takes out a necklace for you.

“For you.” He says, “I have a matching one.”

You sob violently and take the necklace, immediately putting it around your neck and holding onto it with a deathly grip.

He reaches out for your hand. Both of you hold hands for a few seconds, he closes his eyes once again as the tears traced his cheekbone and clung onto his jaw, trickling down slowly.

“We’ll stay in contact.” He says softly in between heavy sobs as he pulls you in one last time, patting you on the back.

“We better.” You crack a joke which makes him giggle. He nods more and pats your shoulder.

The moment has to come to an end eventually, with a heavy heart he takes a step back. He looks you in the eyes one last time and you stare at his brown-blue glistening eyes which sparkled.

You’ll miss those.

You’ll miss him.

You’ll miss all of this.

As he enters the boarding gates, he looks back at you again, smiling slightly at you as he waves slightly. You look back at him, wishing you could be there with him, flying somewhere same. Something wants you to run up to him and hold on tight to him but you stay put, waving goodbye to him.

He holds up the necklace and smiles at you, you smile back at him, choking through the tears which suffocate your lungs as the sting in your throat resurfaces. You hold the necklace up to him too and for the last time, he nods at you, turning around and slowly disappearing from your view.

You stand there.

What do you do now?

What are the weekly nights reserved for now?

Will you ever see Lando again?

———

The nights felt empty and missing a piece, because they were. You missed sitting with him in the cool breeze of the evening or in the dim lights of the nearby stores, talking about things that you would never tell anyone else. You missed all of it, every single angry, sad, happy, nostalgic moment. It was hard to change your entire life, you called him and texted him every single waking minute of your life and he did so too. However, it never felt the same. Sometimes you’d wake up in the middle of the night just to imagine he was there with you again and your tears would involuntarily come trickling down again.

Eventually, you got used to it, like you do.

The years past much quicker than you imagined. You watched Lando grow from a young karter to Formula 1 driver. Sometimes you catch yourself watching his races and other times you see his face in the billboards across town.

You don’t know if he remembers you but both of you practically lost contact after you two stopped texting a few years back. It was rough. Both of you made each other the world, you made him your world. Absolutely nothing was going to stand in your way, but time took its path, and fate drew its sword. It was something that you could never change no matter how hard you tried. Even with empty days and sleepless nights just pretending and wishing and hoping that something would happen. It wouldn’t.

So you had come to peace with it, he was just another passing chapter in your life, meeting once and never again, ingrained in the stone of life.

You were proud of him, for making it this far. You really were. Nothing would ever make you wish anything but the best for him; after all, he was the biggest boy in your life at one point, and nothing would change that. You were incredibly happy for him, for how much effort he’d put into this, he deserved everything. You even watched him win his first race in Miami.

You shed a tear or two. The memories of everything flooding back into your head, just remembering Lando as a young kid saying to you he’d take over the world. He did. You were proud.

But you weren’t there.

Were the promises you made all empty? Just passing in the moment to be carried by the wind and never to be seen or heard ever again?

You sat on the couch watching him take the top step of the podium, holding up the trophy as the sunlight serenaded his face. The familiar sparkle of his eyes stood out to you, it was like when he left. This time his tears were happy ones.

Your tears were bittersweet.

A few hours pass and a chime from your phone gets you off your couch and reaching for your phone.

You got an Instagram DM, from landonorris.

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cookiekissers · 2 months ago

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I won't be replying directly to this request because it was anonymous, but for the future please remember to send off anon if you want nsfw. I can't guarantee or verify your age because anyone can lie about their age when they're on anon!

🔥🔞[Short Spicy Fic + Burning Spice NSFT HCs]

You stare up at the towering giant of a Cookie looming over you. His hair was dark, long, and wild. He had a muscular build, strong arms, and a large, well-defined chest. The guy was stacked, especially in the chest region. It was impossible not to let your gaze wander down his form. Now, this was one handsome Cookie.

"You. Cookie. On your knees. Bow to the Great Destroyer!" Burning Spice Cookie commanded. You blinked in confusion.

During your travels through the sands of this land, you saw many statues dedicated to "The Great Destroyer." Though the Cookie was handsome, he didn't look anything like those giant, beastly statues.

You snickered playfully.

"Heh, really, you? The Beast of Destruction? You sure about that, handsome?" You tease.

You opened your mouth to fire another flirtatious comment at the stranger when he suddenly lifted you by your hips and slammed you against the steep rock wall, knocking the breath from your lungs. Burning Spice's large, muscular body pressed up against you, caging you in with ease. He stared down at you, the heat in his eyes scorching you to your very core. You felt yourself flush, feeling as vulnerable as ever under his hungry gaze. Burning Spice growled low in his throat, his tongue swiping over his lips, eyeing you with a growing lust.

"Very brave of you to speak to me that way, little Cookie." He commended. "But I'll show you what the Beast of Destruction is capable of and why I earned that title." Burning Spice grinned. His voice turned husky, his words full of promise. You gulped, trying desperately not to fidget. Burning Spice leaned forward, capturing your lips roughly. His hot kiss filled you with a fiery need as your tongue tingled and burned with a sweet, addicting heat. Your legs quickly wrapped around Burning Spice's waist, and he wasted no time grinding himself between your legs, his eagerness showing itself quickly.

You gasped as Burning Spice Cookie pulled away to focus on your neck, covering it in feverish kisses that leave behind a tingling sensation. It was one that you couldn't get enough of. His sharp, golden teeth sunk into your crispy dough, and a sudden yelp from you made him chuckle in triumph. The Beast's grinding had become quicker and more desperate. You hung on, your fingers tangling in his black locks as his teeth remained clamped on your throat. Slowly, you could feel something rubbing against you in Burning Spice Cookie's loose pants.

"The destruction I cause on Earthbread will be nothing compared to what I will do you, my little Cookie~" The Beast rumbled fervently.

You panted, your face flushed and your stomach tying itself in knots at Burning Spice's husky voice in your ear. The friction he was giving you only made you feel hotter, and your head spun.

Once he released your throat from his jaws to shove his tongue down your throat, you took the initiative. You wrapped your arms around his neck eagerly, surprising him with a steamy kiss of your own. Burning Spice Cookie wasn't rough in that moment, it almost seemed sweet the way he squeezed you tightly, kissing you deeply and grinding up against you. You drew back slightly, panting.

"Well then, go ahead. Destroy me, Daddy,~" You purred seductively, teasing him further, your hands trailing over his chest and shoulders. Burning Spice Cookie grinned widely at the invitation, and he reached down and ripped your pants off your body.

🔥[HEAD CANONS]

You can't tell me after spending centuries locked in a magical prison he isn't going to be pent up and horny. Showing clear interest in him and teasing him is going to get you a one way ticket to pound town. Burning Spice won't even care if you two do it out in the open, he's horny and he wants you NOW.

Yeah, he would definitely fuck you in front of his spice army. Just to make sure that everyone knows that you're his.

I hc that the Beasts are much larger than the average Cookie, Burning Spice especially. And of course, being a big guy, his dick is huge lmao

Call him "Daddy" and he will go crazy. You won't be leaving him for a while or walking when its over.

He loves cumming inside and filling you over and over. He gets unexpectedly mushy and cuddly after a breeding session.

Burning Spice is the definition of Spicy. His internal temperature is far higher than the average Cookie's and his cum is no exception! It's hot, literally, but thankfully not hot enough to cause injury, but it does take a little bit to get used to.

I imagine him to be the type to be ok with a friends with benefits type of agreement, only to get needy for you frequently, and realize in the middle of fucking that he's balls deep in love with you hjghfjgf

He doesn't like anyone else touching what is his. Any Cookie tries to hit you up he's grabbing his axe and not holding anything back.

Loves biting you while he fucks you hard. Its one of his favourite things, and you will often be covered in bite marks.

When out in public, he will be his usual self. But when in private with you, the tiniest amount of his old self from before his corruption will come out. But these occasions are rare.

Burning Spice will probably prioritize his pleasure over your own, but he's not going to leave you unsatisfied.

He's a top/dom, and does not tolerate anything else. He likes having control over you during sex and enjoys ravaging you until you pass out.

Is lowkey a bit into degradation. Will call you a cumslut, boy toy, pet, daddy's dirty boy, daddy's cock slave, ect

#mango's text 🥭#spicy cookies 🔥🔞#cookie run x y/n #cookie run x you #cookie run x reader #x reader #crk x reader #cr x reader #burning spice cookie #burning spice x reader #male reader #x male reader #male reader nsft #cookie run smut #crk smut #hope this is alright! / w \ despite me reading a lot of x reader stuff I haven't written any until now!#this was supposed to be only hcs but i wrote a oneshot as well hgjfhjgf #kyu queue'd 🍩

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hurlingdown · 2 months ago

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priest! reader, god! character. sub! top reader. religious sex, body worship, vore. thinking about what it means to love a god.

because to love him is to cradle religion in the tender curve of your palm, hunger and reverence coming alive under each gentle press of teeth against tongue.

you are greedy and mortal. you want to carve your touch into him, do far, far more than just worship him at his feet. you dream of taking him wedged between your jaws and consuming him, all of him, so that no other follower of his will ever look at him the same way you do. he loves all, or so he claims, but you let yourself believe, against all odds, that you are his favourite.

you have heard the others say: a prayer is the most powerful weapon of a believer. pray, and he will answer. pray, and he will reward your devotion. but tonight, this is the prayer that you wield.

in this holy altar of his, you are pressing bruises into the sharp angles of his hips while devouring him with yours. you are memorizing the jut of his spine with your lips as worship spills from you unbidden. you are singing a hymn to his name as you offer all of yourself to him, all that he is willing to take. it is not much, but it will suffice.

but you are filthy, your lumbering body pressed against his silk-white skin, soiling him with your mortality. he is different from you. he is better without you.

“my god,” you call to him, trembling beneath the hefty weight of his gaze. “please. please, can i—”

but how, how could you ever forget his omniscience? he sees it all, just as he has always seen, the revulsion etched into the furrow of your brows, the slight parting of your lips as if to dither. “take this and eat of it,” he commands you, “for this is my body.”

and you, helplessly bound to his divine instruction, fall to your knees and obey.

#wrote this for myself but you all can read it too <3 #thinking about nika #top male reader #sub top reader #top reader #male reader #one piece x reader #luffy x reader #one piece x male reader #luffy x male reader #✧ trail of honey.

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tra1nchi · 5 months ago

Note

woke up in the middle of the night with a cold sweat for this horny thought

dumb himbo reader who keeps getting slangs like 'skibidi' (good lord) wrong and oc being so annoyed he fucks him so hard himbo reader cant even think or speak without mewling (consensually, but dub-con is fine too)

rbo the dreams are not the same when you take more than 5 melatonin gummies

MINORS DNI!! bttm male reader,,Himbo reader,,Cringe humour,, Rough sex,,Mindbreaking,,jokes

He was sick of it,,He couldn't handle how many times you would say the dumbest things to reasons that didn't deserve it

Running out of milk? That's not very skibidi,,Him being too tired to work,,all he would get from you instead of encouragement was a short and quiet,,you're not a sigma male then..

He knew you were using it to seem cool,,he knew your pretty little mind didnt seem to understand how truly annoying it was,,His eight year old cousin had the same humour as his own boyfriend

He had a rough day at his work and coming home to your humour was not something he could handle,,he just needed you under him,,moaning over his cock and not laughing at something that wasn't funny at all,,

"Just be quiet for me yeah?" His voice was stern as he leans over you,,his cock pressing against your back as you trembled underneath him,,You had said something that hadsettled your fate for the rest of the night,,being so fucked out of your mind that you wouldn't be even able to use the stupid words!!

"That's right, all your mind can think about is my cock." He says with an amused laugh,, pounding into you roughly,,his hand moving up to move your head up from the pillow letting your moans sing into the night,, not a mutter of a word that could make him sick,,just sweet mewls

As a reward his hand wandered down to your neglected cock,,jerking it off,,making your eyes roll so far into your head thay your mind goes blank!! Who needs to think about dumb things when your boyfriend is so deep inside??

He would go all night,,your tummy covered in your cum from the amount of times you orgasmed just from the feeling of him hitting your prostate so perfectly!! <3 "that's a good fucking boy, taking me so well" Your boyfriends voice was breathless,,his forehead damp with sweat but he kept fucking you!! He won't stop until he makes sure you're throughly fucked

#{anon asks}#{h4rny ask}#bottom male reader #{bttm male reader}#sub male reader #x sub male reader #x bottom male reader #Ur so real for this #I kinda changed it a little sorry I read it wrong and then it was too late 😭

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slowd1ving · 4 months ago

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KILLER ・゜゜MOZE NSFW

"All you are to me is a bleak obsession I am the mark intent on burning the street How many times can I ask you? How many days can I go without you?" Hǎoshì chéng shuāng. 好事成双. Good things come in pairs, even if the pair in question is a homicidal crow and a brokenhearted cryptologist. art by @ ma_mori74 on x!!! moze can we honestly e date? you’re so beautiful. You always make me laugh, you always make me smile. You literally make me want to become a better person I really enjoy every moment we spend together. My time has no value unless its spent with you. I tell everyone of my irls how awesome you are. Thank you for being you. (joke) (not really) this was kinda rushed so :3 errr consider this like part 3 of tales of a disgruntled corvid pairing: moze + male reader warnings: nsfw, male reader, mentions of blood/death/violence, alcohol consumption, jealousy wc: 4.5k

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Hǎoshì chéng shuāng. 好事成双. Good things come in pairs.

Fortune. It is a humorous concept for Moze: tasting of a fleeting childhood dream and the dregs of hope. Fortune, as some know it, comes in all forms. From gilt wealth and corruption, to finding a strale dropped on the street and getting to bed on time—everyone, it seems, tastes good fortune somewhere along their paltry lives.

Moze’s good luck surmounts to meagre things: not getting blood beneath his nails after a mission; evading the prying eyes of the Yaoqing as he slinks into the shadows; working by himself; and most of all, not running into you. Good luck equals a tidy house and leftovers in his fridge. Good luck equals not needing to stock up on the tools of his trade and knives that don’t need sharpening. Good luck equals a fresh steamed bun and a slow day perched on the roof of a building.

The point must be made. Moze does not experience auspicious encounters often.

Conversely, those afflicted by confirmation bias might say misfortune comes in threes. Misfortune, for Moze, is significantly easier to quantify—but to stratify it into threes grossly underestimates the cesspit of chance he’s been allotted.

One: being outside currently at Jiaoqiu’s food stall while rain drizzles down on him. It could be argued it’s only by his own volition that he’s slurping on steaming chilli-infused noodles as petrichor stains the air, yet that stupid fox decided this was the way to go in terms of conveying intelligence from Feixiao. This was the hell crafted by Jiaoqiu’s hands seeped green with pungent herbs.

Two: getting his apartment lease renewal rejected a week ago over a development project at his block. Though he had been planning on starting afresh—never one to stay in the same area for too long, just like the rest of the Shadow Guards—he quite liked the nondescript studio. It’s a tidy place: plain and unassuming. What a pity. He’s read the message from his landlord over and over: growing a tad bit more incensed each time.

Three: the sudden absence of suitable apartments in the districts that he sticks to. None of the flats he browsed were innocuous enough, and the ones that were perfect for his schedule and profession were in dismal condition.

Four: you purchasing a flat a month ago which perfectly fulfilled his conditions. Two-bedroom, in the lower districts of the Yaoqing, with reclusive neighbours and a walking distance of the Seat of Divine Foresight. Had he gotten the notice for his lease rejection earlier, it might’ve been him there.

Five: upon asking about his dilemma, Feixiao’s eyes gleaming bright. This was the indicator for certain disaster—an omen as ill as he ever saw. And unfortunately, her gaze next fell on the scripts you were working on, before flickering back up to you. Shit. That was the only thought running through his mind, before she pitched her idea to have him simply move in with you. Say no, he pleaded mentally, but alas—

“Sure,” you mutter, red ink spilling from your pen onto the parchment. Bold characters sign the form off and the letter is folded neatly onto a cycrane absent-mindedly; before you finally look up at the assassin who flinches as your eyes land on his. “S’long as he pays rent.”

Six: you agreeing to this stupid deal. Why? Why? It can’t possibly be the deep veneration for the Arbiter General. Surely your adoration of her cannot be deep enough to let this guy room in your house—an assassin, at that. You aren’t a follower of Qlipoth, but where the hell is your sense of preservation?

Seven: him not actually finding any fault in the building. Not in the surroundings, nor the modest room across from yours, nor the lazy grin on your face as you showed him around the apartment—still expecting him to vehemently shake his head.

He signed the damned contract, and that was that.

“What’s got you sighing?” Jiaoqiu eyes him from where he’s pulling noodles: sleeves rolled back to avoid dusting the salmon hues with flour. Fragrant red wafts from the pot on the stove, and he’s suddenly reminded of the crimson shirt you wore just this morning—rippling around the taut lines of sinew and muscle as you worked diligently on decrypting ancient alchemical texts. “I thought you found yourself a place to stay, so why the long face?”

Moze keeps his silence. Well, tries to—but it’s not like a singular word will make him any less laconic. Tapping his chopsticks against the rim of the blue-toned porcelain, he evades the question and focuses right on the middle of Jiaoqiu’s sentence. “Somehow.”

“Right! Your dearest partner—” Jiaoqiu drags the word out, characters stretched tight until they wind right against Moze’s eardrums. He glares: visibly annoyed, yet this only makes the man in his peripherals close his own eyes in satisfaction. “—took pity on you, didn’t he?”

“Maybe.” The assassin slams down the rest of the piquant broth: lips dripping with sanguine. His response is a question in itself—because why the hell did you agree to Feixiao’s request?

“Curious?” Of course he’s curious.

“It’s not much of a surprise, really,” the foxian sighs, twisting the strands into a neat circle and letting it drop into the boiling water. “Poor thing’s probably still in shock from his breakup. I think he would’ve agreed to pretty much anything coming out of Feixiao’s mouth at that point.”

The man can only stare incredulously. Every part of that sentence is laden with a bombshell.

“Wow, I thought you would’ve known. Guess what’s said at Qiu’er’s stays there too.” Jiaoqiu’s golden eyes gleam slightly at the mention of the downtown bar. No, Moze didn’t know. No, Moze isn’t currently outright staring at the man no longer in his peripherals. No, Moze cannot hear his chopsticks creaking beneath his grasp. “Woah, don’t break those.”

The fox eyes the crow warily. “Seriously. Cool it.”

Eight: you’re still not over your boyfriend cheating on you. In the drizzle beneath the canopy, this is how your new roommate diligently listens to how his work partner and resident cryptologist really can’t catch a break from bad men.

“That includes you, you know,” Jiaoqiu squints at an unusually contemplative Moze. Flickering amber lights and the buzz of cicadas makes the assassin seem even more shady than usual. “You don’t have a chance, so don’t even try.”

“The hell are you talking about?” For someone like Moze, his piece of good fortune is that his voice remains steady in almost any sort of situation. This means that anyone hearing this man speak right now would naturally presume he’s affronted at Jiaoqiu’s response out of its complete implausibility. But on the flip side, those who’ve known Moze longer have learnt to watch for other irritated tells of his rather than a wavering voice. The subconscious flex of long fingers. Minute shifts in the elbows propped up on the bar. Biting the inside of his lip, just enough that it’s unnoticeable. But these aren’t things the assassin really takes stock of.

For a brief moment, Jiaoqiu’s friendly smile drops and he peers at the man askance. Is he brain dead? “...Okay.”

And that is how the tall man—hunched over in the downpour to not let his noodles get too cold—first learns of matters of a more personal note of yours. In the rare grey skies that cast over the Yaoqing, it’s a chance to digest this information he’s learnt.

But he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t.

・゜゜

A painful month passes for Moze.

There’s nothing else to describe it—psychological torment is the only fitting description of your behaviour. Outwardly, nothing changes. He still hates you, and you still hate him—two arguing peas in a pod with a mutual dislike being the only thing in common between the two of you. Outwardly, behaviour-wise, nothing changes. Outwardly, appearance-wise, something does.

He first notices it about three weeks after that waterlogged conversation with Jiaoqiu. There’s a faint aroma of sweet-smelling smoke on you—a long cigarette holder between your fingers as you read a thick book on the couch. He’s never seen the thing before in all your months together. Sure, the Yaoqing tobacco scent fades quickly away to not linger in the case of a borisin’s especially sharp senses—but he’s never seen that sort of heavy-lidded expression on you before. When you glance at him, it’s usually irritatedly—not like this, where your glance is hazy and your lips are parted to blow plumes from your mouth.

Shit. He doesn’t quite know why his heart speeds up.

The second thing he notices is that every week or so, there’s a clinging perfume to your body: never your usual clean scent, one that clearly belongs to a different person. This is the same time he starts noticing you slipping on shirts with longer necks on missions—a darker imprint just about peeking above the material.

He’s not an idiot. He can put two and two together.

The third instance of misfortune is your habit of wandering around after a shower with nothing but a towel wrapped around your waist conservatively. Sure, the area from your hips to your knees is covered—but what about the rest? He finds himself growing more irritable during work hours. Marks not caused by injuries still bruise your skin; as you turn your back in the kitchen to make yourself a mug of tea, his eyes rove the dips and valleys of your back. Categorising each wound. Systematically detailing each little infringement on your skin.

He doesn’t particularly know why. Maybe his obsession with tidiness crosses over to people too.

・゜゜

It happens like this. Occasionally, a man as ill-fortuned as Moze receives gets a break.

There’s a tumbler of whiskey on the low coffee table in the living room. Polished chestnut—if you had to describe it—with the light shining through the amber liquid just so, until it reflects onto the varnished surface. A cube of ice sits dainty in the middle, clinking as you tip the glass this way and that.

“Don’t spill it,” the assassin murmurs. From behind the couch, breath ghosting just past your ear. You don’t shriek (perhaps he hoped you would)—you don’t even glance his way.

“I feel like that was a redundant warning,” you remark brusquely, taking a swill of the liquor. It’s sweeter than it would’ve been normally: courtesy of the saccharine pipe nestled betwixt your fingers and the smoke still lingering in your mouth. “Were you hoping I’d jump?”

“Yes.” Short. To the point. Laconic. That’s how those outside this home would describe the man currently leaning down, hands splayed on the backrest of the couch. “We’ve got a mission tomorrow, and you still haven’t done the dishes.”

“It’s your turn,” he adds, because he likes seeing how this man’s expression wrinkles in exasperation, likes that stupid cant of your head—for it means Moze has won this little encounter. It’s all because he strongly dislikes his roommate, no other reason.

“You suck.” Syrupy plumes ghost his face as you exhale into his face above—he doesn’t move back, even as the traces of burnt caramel become far more prominent, even as it feels like you’re blowing him a kiss more than anything.

“And you need to clean and go to sleep before you’re late,” he grits out, more annoyed than he was a moment ago. He’d say it was due to your lack of responsibility, but this angle allows the loose robe to expose your bitten collarbone—like some stupid fucking trophy. “Like you always are.”

“I’m never late, A-ze,” you enunciate each word in such a way that makes it clear you’re not drunk—so clearly the nickname is just to piss him off. A last-ditch middle finger; a threat that hasn’t worked for some time, one that makes his stomach churn uncomfortably but not enough to admit defeat. “You’re just up stupid early.”

He goes silent, in the way he does when you’re right. Instead of saying anything, he instead plucks the glass from your hand: downing the smooth alcohol from where you drank it, enjoying how for once your mouth closes just like his. The pipe in your hand tilts this way and that as you take a drag thoughtfully—recovering far too quickly for his liking.

“A-ze.” Like this, with wisps exiting your mouth and silk draped over you, you look good enough to eat. He freezes at the implication of his thoughts, freezes at the sound of the name blanketed in some gruesome replica of affection. He hates it; hates how his heart squeezes and a faint flush of red dusts his cheekbones. Aeons.

It is common knowledge to not toss a starving dog a bone before it hungers for more.

“What, you don’t hate it anymore? Here I was, hoping you’d turn tail and leave,” you sigh, theatrically despondent—much like you normally are. Too damn dramatic for your own good.

So desperate, drinking your sorrows away as if that’ll possibly work. He scoffs, striding the short distance over so he can tower over from the front.

“Maybe you just like calling me that,” he breathes. There’s a smile playing on his lips: the rare one he gets when he knows he’s got a point, knows when he’s right. It’s unconscious—he’s far too oblivious to notice it only occurs around you.

“I do,” you murmur. “Bet it warms your heart though. No one likes you enough to call you that.”

“So you like me?” There’s an odd buzz in his veins tonight. As the orange lights from the street blink into existence, and the room is no longer illuminated by ‘day’, he’s glad for the darkness that conceals the heat in his face. Your clothing rustles as you stand—practically nose to nose with the man in front of you.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Xiaoze,” you mutter, and the heated breath from your lips fans over his sensitive skin—mingling with the tobacco wisps and alcohol vapour. He swallows. “It’s pity.”

“Pity?” he sneers. “Like how you sleep around to get over your boyfriend? That’s not pitiful?”

“Like I said—” your tone becomes frigid as you shift closer: until his chest brushes up against yours, until he can count every lash that glows amber in the incandescent street lamps, until he can practically taste the rolling fury off your tongue. Warm. Scalding heat ebbs from your body and flows right into his own. “—don’t get ahead of yourself, Xiaoze.”

His breath comes in ragged waves. So close. When he stands so near to a human, it typically means he’s feeling life flow from them. Not like this; but he cannot bring himself to get away.

He’s never been more thankful for his unwavering voice.

“Don’t give bones to starving dogs,” he murmurs, mellifluous rather than jarringly annoying. “They’ll bite.”

Smoke wafts into his face as you survey his expression: flushed, brows knitted taut, lips still slick with liquor.

“So you’re a dog, now?” Your fingers graze his chin, canting his head this way and that as he makes no moves to evade your grasp: heart beating miserably in his chest. There’s a strange sort of hunger in your gaze.

He’s never seen it before.

“No, it was proverbial—” Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “—you know?”

“Just as desperate as one,” you mutter. Trailing your finger down until they graze his collarbones, it’s no wonder he flinches—and you stare at him, unimpressed. “If I tell people about this, your reputation would immediately disintegrate. How many years have you cultivated that stupid mysterious image?”

“Hah—who would believe you?” It’s true, not many people would—but alas, the important ones have already witnessed this man looking at you.

“Jiaoqiu, but I guess he already knows what a loser you are.” And you miss how when he lowers his head, he looks like a completely different person—flushed visage mired in shadow, like the assassin he truly is. He’s staring right at you, unblinking as he watches the cruel movement of your lips.

“Don’t talk about him right now.”

And so, you don’t.

・゜゜

This is the prelude leading up to this particularly humiliating scene.

Humiliating, because propping himself up on his elbows on your bed isn’t a position he thought he’d ever find himself in. Humiliating, because he never gets drunk, so why the hell is his head spinning? Humiliating, because for once the mellow deep of his voice is pitched a note higher—larynx taut with suppressed groans. Unsteady, in a way his voice has never been.

You taste like the pipe still tipping in your fingers: candy-sweet and saccharic. But there’s also the heavy aroma of liquor on your breath, mingling bittersweet with the plumes of smoke wafting from your fingers. Beneath that, blood from a scrape on your lip—acrid and metallic. That is what he knows, so your lips moving gently against his feels so utterly foreign: and not just in the way they taste.

When you pull back for air, his eyes are blown wide in surprise; his mouth has only ever been used to bite, after all. You seem to instinctively know this as you take a long drag from the stick, blowing the curls of vapour into his mouth when you pull back in: to induce a slight tingle into him presumably (but Lan knows he doesn’t need aid to feel that buzz).

Languorous. That’s how he’d describe it—for it seems you only ever work lazily. There’s no hurry as you lick past the seam of his lips. There’s no hurry as both your scalding mouth and your arid fingertips trail downwards, past the vales of his tense abdomen. There’s no hurry—but Aeons he wishes there was, for your hand slipping under his shirt and against his stiffened nipples are much too damn slow.

“Do you—do you even know what you’re doing?” he mocks, like he isn’t currently jolting as you roll the pink flesh between searing fingers. You raise a brow: lucid against the otherwise irritated thoughts.

“Do I?” you copy his broken whine, gripping the fat of his tits coarsely while the rise and fall of his chest becomes ever so slightly more shallow. If only he could see himself right now: jarred at every turn, pupils blown out, and the residual sheen on his lips. Every damn hue of purple littering his neck and collarbone. And if only you could see better in this darkness—spot that obsessive fervour in his gaze, one neither of you are quite aware of.

“Do you have any experiences to compare it to?” you counter, twisting your hand while he glares at you heatedly. Nothing. Quiet as a corpse when you make an irrefutable point.

No, that’s right, you grin sardonically as you slip the long cigarette back into its place on your nightstand. Syrup drips from your mouth as you twine your free hand in his hair, tugging until he groans into your lips with his own in that mellifluous cadence.

You’re harsh as winter.

No, cruel.

Cruel, as you trail your hand from his chest to his waistband—palming him roughly through his pants. Cruel, as you pinion his hips against your bed to prevent them from bucking into your hand—fingers digging desperately against your sheets as you grind against him. Cruel, as you swallow each whine with your warm mouth: so sweet, so gentle even as you wrench your hand into sinew, flesh and everything beyond. He can taste the arid heartbeat through your mouth, and he’s sure you can feel his own—pulsing hotly as he yields his worries to you, just for a moment.

Or two.

He’s inexperienced, but even he knows what the tension in his abdomen signifies. The distinct tremors in his legs, the pain as he digs his nails into your thigh, the tightness coiling his body into rigidity. Puppet-like beneath your machinations: manipulated this way and that way with strings unseen.

Fucking his hand has never felt like this.

As he writhes, he greedily swallows you whole. Taking everything, including your bloodied lips, including the faint caramel tracing your tongue, including the strangled gasp as he grasps your nape with burning urgency. Aeons. He’s breathless; judged human lust far too soon. Against your brutal palm, the fabric of his trousers is slick with his release—wet patch a testament to his sin.

Yet still you rock against him as he rides out the mind-numbing pleasure: limbs infinitely heavier from the tension suddenly all releasing.

But he forgets how cruel you are.

One final sweet kiss later—nails raking past his scalp and the other hand warmly pressed against his cheek—and you pull away with a lazy smile.

“Go to sleep.” The directive jolts him awake, like a bucket of ice-cold water breaking apart a dream. Dissolved like candy, like the damn fluid in Penacony connecting the conscious and unconscious. “We’ve got a mission tomorrow, remember?”

Like the cat that got the cream, you smile Cheshire-bright. A fucking riddle on your lips. “And I still have to do the dishes, remember?”

He’s left stupefied: numb lips, a reeling head, and an impercipient body. Once more, the shower he douses himself in is frigid—but nothing could be as cold as what just occurred.

What the hell?

He presses his palm to the lower half of his face in shock.

What the hell?

Seriously, there’s something wrong with you. And as he glances down, he realises with utmost horror that his problem has not yet died down yet.

What the hell?

Important things must be said thrice. Duplicitous in nature, Moze’s fate both turns for the worse and better simultaneously.

The bone has been tossed. What will the starving dog do?

・゜゜

All actions have consequences.

That is a proverb universally recognised by all walks of life: trodden on by kings, revered by alchemists, and vowed by the weak. You reap what you sow. What goes around comes around. Equivalent exchange.

The natural outcome from that night is mutual silence. You don’t speak of that evening, and neither does he—face flush with implication, yet unwilling to actually divulge his thoughts on the matter. Sure, he finds himself with his hand attempting to recreate your rough friction (teeth clenched around his shirt as he paws at his lean chest)—but it never quite works, and all of his colleagues are privy to his especially curt mood.

Joint missions with you are now a thing painful. Tense.

The strings that bind him to you are taut with the feeling. Constricting, tightening, until he can sense their imminent breakage.

This leads this unusual pair to this scenario. You, fresh out a shower and post the nth mission of this month. It’s only been three weeks since that night, and watching you meander about the kitchen with only a towel slung low on your hips is giving him heart palpitations. Steam curls from your body; each time you shift, he’s excruciatingly aware of how it appears just like that smoke from that night.

“A-ze. What do you want?”

That’s the golden question—what snaps him out of the trance—and makes him realise he’s practically pressed up against you from the back. No, scratch practically. His arms are on either side of the counter, pinning you in position as you continue stirring the fragrant drink. Feeling that damned sear of your skin is driving him into the throes of madness.

He wraps his arms around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck and not heeding the rivulets that seep into his clothes. So warm, he wants to murmur—but talking is for those who want to speak, and he does not want to. Not in this moment, where he’s appreciating the soap you used, the lotion spread onto damp skin, the inherent smell of you.

His teeth graze the vulnerable juncture. You turn, and he can see your eyes waver, feel the rapid thrum of your pulse as you become aware of just how desperate he is. “A-ze.” And your hands roam his waist, tracing the taut muscles betraying his anticipation.

His lips are heated as he leans into you: a snarling mess. Trembling fingers trace the expanse of your soft body, like you’ll ghost away just like the wisps you smoke.

“Need you.” It’s not a plea—the rough deep of his voice makes him sound demanding, as arrogant as ever. “Haven’t I behaved?”

He’s so damn desperate as he grasps your body: bruising and fatal. He’s desperate as he kisses you heatedly, desperate while your hands brush past the feverish skin of his stomach, desperate as you push him against the couch—too hasty for the bedroom. Now, he chokes out. Now, now, now. Please.

Pliant beneath your hands, it’s not exactly the longest time until he’s gasping beneath you. So tight, you may have commented: drunk on the sensation of him fluttering around your probing fingers. Aeons.

He’s so malleable: arching into you as soon as you line yourself up. It almost makes you feel bad for him: feeling him flinch whenever you brushed past him, watching his face bloom scarlet as he saw the marks on his neck in the hallway mirror. Almost.

It’s because he’s so cute like this: drooling amidst all the broken noises as you slam into him. You’ve never quite seen him this dishevelled, not even during that night. Hungrily, he’s sucking you right in—paying no heed to suppressing the almost-pained moans dribbling past his open lips.

What a mess.

Physically, it can only be described as such. White globs decorate his flushed skin messily: pearlescent in the dim lights of the living room. He can’t even begin to count how many times his weeping tip has stiffened, not when you’re so damn insistent that he forgets how to speak properly. It’s not like you’re any better; each time you look down there’s that frothy ring that strings you two together.

Emotionally, it’s also quite the mayhem. You don’t particularly know where to look when his eyes have that gleam in them—a sort of fervour that one rarely ever sees. Even now—pupils hazed with lust and eyelids lowered heavily—he’s staring right up at you, content as can be whilst you drill mercilessly into him.

Fuck.

“Come on, you—ah—can do better than that,” he taunts. As though he doesn’t look completely fucked-out, as though there aren’t tears leaking from his foggy eyes. You’re not sure where he gets his audaciousness from.

He’s beautiful.

“This is why no one likes you,” you hiss, sharply tugging his hair back to hear his surprised whines. Supplicantly, he does exactly what you expect. Loser. Aeons, he sucks.

“Yeah?” he grins. “What does that say about you?”

“That I’m a no one from the Intelligenstia Guild,” you answer against his neck, feeling his throat constrict as he swallows. Though it’s only minutely, his nails dig somewhat deeper into the flesh of your back—marking you up just as much as you’ve marked him. An acknowledgement of your words.

Well.

You suppose you’ve always been drawn to the pathetic ones.

・゜゜

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amostnobleyandere · 6 months ago

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Yandere! Diluc x Reader

Summary: Kidnapped Reader begins to feel touch starved after being trapped for so long and finally reciprocates Diluc’s need for physical affection. Cue a steamy make-out session.

MDNI.

Warning(s): YANDERE content (do not read if you are not comfortable), kidnapping, imprisonment, possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, implied Stockholm syndrome, dubious consent (concerning touch), forced affection, forced kissing, steamy, !! heavily suggestive ending (smut implied)!!, slight hair pulling, slight isolation, forced marriage, they make out and both of them get somewhat turned on *gasp*

—————————

“Just one kiss. Please, darling.”

“No-“

Your protests were silenced by Diluc pushing his plush lips onto yours. The kiss was soft, delicate, and loving, something filled with longing after not seeing you for hours. However, the romance of it all didn’t mean much to you when you had been backed into the corner of your shared canopy bed with no way to escape.

You tightly fisted your hands into the sheets as his lips pressed insistently against yours, a discarded book next lying open on the silken bedding. You had been entertaining yourself pretty well before Diluc, your husband, had gotten home from a long day of work and business, deciding that he wanted to relish in your company after being deprived of it for so many hours. Your husband was a working man, and unfortunately for you, he only became more desperate to hold you after being separated most days.

Diluc’s arms caged you in while his thigh pressed against yours, heat seeping through the thin fabric. His winter clothes had been switched out for lighter ones with the coming spring, and you could feel every tensing muscle in his body as it shifted against your shamefully thin loungewear. You could feel the twitching of his body, the stiff movements that came with him resisting the urge to run his hands all over you. He knew you didn’t like him touching you. He knew that he was pushing it by kissing you with such intensity.

Today though, today was different. You didn’t mind the way his lips were bruising yours with each practiced tilt of his head. An all too human part of you was so tired of resisting every day, and it craved the warmth that you felt in those moments after he was done kissing you; those moments when he brought his gloved hands up to caress your face as you avoided his painfully adoring expression.

Hesitantly, you brought your tense arm up to graze the hair near the back of his head, each movement feeling slow and forced. But god, you were so desperate for the thought of being touched, and could no longer keep up the act of repulsion to the little physical touch Diluc gave you; you were tired of being careful to avoid every brush of skin, every silent show of affection.

Diluc knew it made you uncomfortable, and for the first few months of your “stay” you would have rather gagged yourself before you ever kissed him willingly. But loneliness was a powerful thing, and besides the maids who would barely look you in the eye, he was the only one you could reach out and hold.

Your hand landed on the back of his ponytail and you did you best to ignore how quickly Diluc stiffened under the shift in weight. His lips froze against yours in shock, but you pushed your hand further into his hair before anxiety made you pull it back. Your fingers curled into his locks, slightly tugging at the base where a ribbon held it back, and the first thing you thought was how absolutely soft it was.

You heard Diluc shakily breathe in, his eyes wide as he stared at you in disbelief. His hands landed firmly on your hips in an awkward attempt to put them somewhere. You could feel his fingertips digging into your skin, hands tense as he felt the new sensation of your fingers running through his hair.

…Clearly your touch was not unwelcome.

Feeling emboldened, you went further. With one of your hands still nestled in his hair, you rested the other one on his chest. You curiously ran it up to his collar, distracted by the new feeling of the coarse clothing and the strong body that shuddered underneath your light touch. You felt his heart beat unimaginably fast against your palm, heat seeping into your skin already from the light contact.

You quickly glanced up at his eyes and immediately became aware of the intensity of the look he was giving you. His gaze roamed your face, going from your eyes to your lips, searching fervently for something in your expression. You had never been the one to initiate anything before, much less encourage his behavior. You had always been quite cold to your captor ever since he had swept you away and locked you up in his mansion, too paranoid and in love to keep you anywhere but under his watchful eye.

You suddenly felt very nervous. Diluc’s blood red eyes reminded you of a predator, following every slight movement you made with rapt attention.

A primal part of you was scared of breaking eye contact with the dangerous man in front of you and you felt your heartbeat quicken for the first time in a while; whether it was fear or excitement, it made a fire light in your body.

Slowly, you leaned into him, ghosting your lips against his as he sharply inhaled, muscles tensing underneath your fingers as you focused on the rhythmic thrum of his heart. You moved the hand over his heart to join the other nestled in his hair. You pressed your chests together, practically melting into him as the lonely place in your heart sighed in relief at the warmth surrounding you.

You were the closest to him you had ever been, and you were returning the affection he had showered you with since the day he took you away. In the moment, you were unaware as to what exactly was going through Diluc’s mind. This was a sign of you willingly accepting his love. A thing you had only ever seemed to acknowledge reluctantly. His self restraint snapped, and then his hands were everywhere.

What had gone from a sensual kiss of longing was now a passionate fight for breath, with every harsh press of his lips to yours ending and beginning again at a dizzying pace. His exhales met yours in quick, desperate pants, as he seemed only able to pull away for a second before attaching himself to you again.

You soon lost your balance from the onslaught and fell back onto the bed. Diluc paused for a brief moment before following you and carefully placing himself over you, putting his weight on one forearm and using his other hand to impatiently tug open his collar.

“Diluc?” You said, dazed by the sudden change in his behavior.

“Hot,” was the only thing he said, forgoing elaborating to instead nudge his face into the crook of your neck. You tensed as you felt his lips brush against the sensitive area, each exhale adding more heat to already damp skin.

You nearly screamed when you felt his lips settle onto your skin, his teeth latching onto your neck happily. He bit painful heat into your throat, marking each new spot he found with eagerness as he moved down your neck. He began pressing fleeting kisses up to your ear, which he then happily bit and abused. His tongue ran across the shell languidly, a teasing motion with a meaning more sensual behind it, and an unexpected bolt of electricity shot through you.

Diluc seemed to be caught between deciding to pin you underneath him or allowing your hands to be entwined in his hair. Eventually, he guided your hand up to where it had previously been, and you automatically pulled on the long strands just to ground yourself. He moaned at the feeling. You teased the ribbon away until it fell from his nape, watching bright red locks spill over the broad shoulders now caging you in.

Errant strands floated above you, teasing at your face and skin as Diluc ran his hands up and down the side of your waist. He panted in your ear and his hot breaths bounced against sensitive skin, making goosebumps rise along your arms.

You jumped as you felt his hand run to your thigh and squeeze, the firm grip making something light up in your stomach. You inhaled shakily, gasping as your realized that you were going to get what you wanted and more. Tonight was going to be a long night.

—————————

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lumarhorrors · 17 days ago

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Idk if u can do this request so if u don't like it ignore it lmao, how abt a Top prince x Bottom Male reader servant, since the prince is well, the prince, he can do anything so he orders his servant (reader) to have sex with him, with spanking and breeding kink from the prince and dub con (if u feel uncomfortable don't do it)

Of course, I'll make this request! Everything is in my I will write section ^^ also this is my first time writing none Vanilla NSFW so sorry if its sucks.

CW: dun-con, breeding kink, spanking, power play, slightly semi-public I guess? Raw sex.

You were just a lowly servant working for the King and queen as their son's personal servant. Whatever he wanted you did.

To you, the prince was a brat, extremely spoiled and a bit of a perv. You always caught him staring at you, whether it's at your ass or lower regions but it always makes you slightly uncomfortable. To you, you were there to do a job and be paid so you could finally be free. You wrote all thus in your diary and well....the prince found it and was not happy his eye candy was planning on ditching him. So As you made your way back to your sleeping quarters for the night and hand grabbed you pulling you into a semi private hallway.

When you turn to look glaring at you is the prince. And he was angry. "So When were you going to tell me you were leaving!" He yelled at you. "I-I..." you stuttered not ever seeing him this angry before. "as punishment for your little plan you'll have sex with me," he smirked as he knew you would listen to whatever he said. He pushed you down onto your knees and your face pressed into his clothed bludge. Your face goes red and your eyes widen...he's definitely big. "I...yes...your Highness" he whispered as you unzipped his pants and pulled them down leaving him I'm his boxers.

He threads his hands through your hair as you kiss along his clothed cock. You kiss up to the tip before pulling them down, his cock smacked against his shirt. You shakily placed your hands on his hard length and take it in your mouth. "Fuck!" He groaned as he placed one hand on your hair and the other bracing the wall behind you. The Prince grabs your hair tightly and fucked into your mouth using you as he pleased. "Mmm~" you moaned as his Cock hit the back of your throat. You gagged as he thrusted with no remorse tears pricked your eyes. "aww is the little maid boy crying?" he taunted. "Too much for you? Well take it" he glared forcing himself down you as he painted your tongue and throat white

the prince had you pressed against the wall your legs around his waist and his cock buried deep in your tight hole. "hah...please no...hah...more" you begged and whined. he continued to thrust in and out ignoring your pleas for him to slow down, his cum dripped down your thighs onto the clean carpets of the hallway. you tried to keep quiet as to not wake anyone in the palace and get caught, you let put a yelp followed by a moan as he spanked your ass. "I want to hear those pretty noises my little maid" he said coldly. "ah...okay..." you moan as he painted your walls white for the second time. a while later you had moved to his room. the door locked and your faced pressed into a pillow your hips lifted onto your knees back arched as he slammed roughly into your used and abused hole. "t-too...much~" you whimper as you cum for the third time painting the sheets and making a white sticky puddle of cum.

you knew the price was a fuckboy and a perv but you never expected him to breed you like a bunny in heat. you felt a hard slap on your ass as he spanked you again. he leaned down and sucked and bite your neck marking you as his. "you're mine little maid...you're not leaving ever~" he marks your neck with many hickeys. "fuckk baby...so tight for your prince~. gonna breed you all night~." he moaned in your ear. you were exhausted and tried to wriggle free from his grasp only to be flipped and sat in his lap cock still buried deep inside you. "plea- no....mOrE~" you whimpered as he roughly bounced you up and down occasionally smacking your ass till it was read, you felt yourself tighten around his large length signalling your fourth release of the night. he continues to abuse your poor hole even after you released your fluids over your chest and stomach "ughh one more love~" he said releasing his load into you.

after you both finished he kicked you out of his room naked and used. you sat on the floor in front of his closed with only a bed sheet he threw at you. you felt broken and hollow...the prince used you for himself only. you shamefully walked to your quarters and put on your clothes and packed your things and snuck out the palace. you left on your horse to the neighbouring kingdom. when the prince realised you'd left he was furious, but his parents just replaced you and his new maid boy was more than willing to be a toy for the prince so you were soon forgotten and lived your life in peace as the neighbouring kingdom's prince's maid.

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masterlist

#bottom male reader #top character #prince oc #breeding k1nk #male reader #male x male #male x male reader #royal oc #maid male read #servent x prince

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the-californicationist · 2 months ago

Text

Cali's Kinktober 2024: Day 05

Kinktober Masterlist rara avis - "the rare bird" John Price x f!reader Kinks > yandere, NC voyeurism, stalking, rough sex Full tags on AO3 - MDNI

When you move to your new home, you are totally swept off your feet by the amenities. There are so many beautiful, wooded trails and a gorgeous creek for you to explore in your own backyard. Your neighbor, an avid bird watcher, mostly keeps to himself. However, you start feeling like you’re the bird being watched.

If you don't like what's in the kink list, don't fucking click on this story. You're not invited. Block me, and then.... Get. Fucking. Lost.

You had picked this place because of the view. Your backyard overlooked the most gorgeous, fairytale-perfect creek that you’d ever seen. In the morning, ducks and their ducklings played in the shallow bends and curves of the whispering brook, and at night, frogs and fireflies sang and danced to serenade you to sleep. It was heaven.

So, that’s why you practically lived in your backyard. You were always outside gardening or weeding, laying by the stream with a spicy book, or swinging gently in your hammock, letting your toes skim the cold water of your very own oasis.

Your swimming had started as a summer habit. After you finished your sweaty chores, you loved stripping down to your bra and panties to cool off in the little creek. The deepest part only came to your belly button, so it was more like a sit rather than a swim, but you didn’t mind. In fact, if you remained still long enough, little finches would sneak along the bank, keeping an eye on you while they hunted for bugs and seeds in the muddy shoal.

Autumn brought cardinals and bluebird that roosted in the low branches of your trees, and a very vocal whippoorwill, all competing for their own spot in this obvious paradise.

You weren’t much of a bird watcher, but your neighbor was.

Captain John Price was some sort of legend. He had served in the special forces, or still did serve, but that was all classified. Your other neighbors had let you in on his intense background, yet no one had anything but the highest praise for his classy manners and charming smile. And while he did flash a beaming grin to the Smiths and the Broussards across the wide lane, he looked at you with a different sort of smile.

The way he looked at you made you melt like a popsicle on a hot day.

You’d gotten closer to the captain over the last year or so that you’d lived here. He had come over one evening because your pipes had burst in the freeze, and he knew just how to fix it. Over the course of the season, he’d sit outside and you would make excuses to chat with him. Once he had your attention, he’d point out all the different types of birds that flitted between his trees and yours, helping you recognize their calls. He’d bring his binoculars with him some evenings while he sat to watch the avian traffic, and he even let you peer through the lenses to see a nest of baby chicks in your own backyard.

Then, he’d had to go away for “work”, so he asked you to keep an eye on the mail for him. He was only supposed to be gone for six weeks, but six more weeks passed before he showed up with ten stitches over his eye and his arm in a sling asking for his key back.

When he saw your face fall in reaction to his wounds, he chuckled, the corners of his eyes creasing at their seams as he told his lies,

“Clumsy, me. Fell down the bloody stairs at Heathrow. Dunno what hurts worse, my arm or my pride.”

The wink that he tacked on at the end of his quip was Cupid’s thick-shafted arrow, striking you right in your heart. You were in trouble. This man was some sort of secret agent contract killer, and yet you found yourself replacing old boyfriends’ faces with his when you made yourself come at night, imagining him spreading you open instead of whoever had been your flavor of the month back then. Price might be the most dangerous man on Earth, but goddamnit, you didn’t care.

Over the following summer, your dark fantasies continued. He started working on his own backyard, putting up birdhouses and sharing facts with you about some of the local species he was hoping to host when you passed each other coming and going. Each day that you got to see him was a true gift, even if you didn’t really care about birding in the least.

One particular afternoon was especially fruitful. The captain was out there all day trimming trees, cutting brush, and hacking back old growth… shirtless. His muscles gleamed like a hirsute Adonis, snapping and rolling under his skin like a symphony of strength. The way his tanned flesh gleamed in the sun made him look like he was carved out of bronze.

So, you thought, two could play at that game.

You bought a white bikini online and lounged in it the first day it came in, rocking back and forth in your hammock, hoping that you could catch a glimpse of him watching you with that savage look in his eyes. When you spotted him glance over at you from his garden, you knew your plan had worked. He would peek over his shoulder as he raked or shoveled, almost imperceptibly, but you were watching him like a hawk and you noticed every little breath and movement he was making.

As the afternoon wore on, especially when you needed to apply more sunscreen, he fed you juicier and juicer morsels of his lustful longing. He would stare, when he thought you weren’t looking, at the way your heavy tits strained the lycra of your triangle top, and when you bent over, his eyes would scrape and claw for every curve of your plump ass before righting himself again before you caught him scavenging.

At one point, you pretended to fall asleep, letting your book fall limply out of your hand and onto the grass, making your mouth soft and slack, just to see what he would do. To your shock, he pulled out his phone and began to take pictures of you, quick and efficient, pocketing his device before he even looked at the results. His audacity was shocking. Your mind raced with all of the thoughts of what he might do with your images, of how he might touch himself thinking about you, hungering for you and your tender body.

A few minutes passed, and he continued to try and work, but it was futile. John started to walk over to you, moving through your shared backyard and making a steady advance on your position. As he got closer and closer, you tried to control your breathing, reminding yourself to be dead asleep, forcing your mind not to obsess over his enormous muscle-bound body or the dark fur that covered his skin, becoming denser and curling as it trailed below his belly button, pointing you to where you wanted to focus.

He stood a short distance away for a while, and he seemed to be locked in a silent battle with himself. The captain wanted to attack and retreat at the same time. All the while, you noticed him shaking his leg ever so slightly, bending the knee and widening his stance. But, his shifting wasn’t working, and to your absolute joy, he finally relented and had to use his hand to readjust his growing cock. He pulled the body of it up and over his left hip, lovingly squeezing the tip just a bit before letting it go. You marveled at his girth, praying that the outline in his pants was truly representative of the absolute monster he kept inside of them.

Your neighbor allowed himself to step forward. And again. Slowly, step by step, he closed the gap, his eyes never leaving your face, worrying that you would wake up to find him leering. Yet, he didn’t care enough to return to his side of the yard.

Shame, it seemed, was not a deterrent for his thirst.

When he was close enough to touch you, he knelt down, studying your face. Then, his eyes began to drink you in, gazing at your breasts as they hung slightly to the side, their round shapes being pulled by gravity into smooth teardrops of sensitive flesh. His hands fidgeted with the wooden handle of his rake he was holding, wanting to touch the silk of your skin and test its fineness.

Then, he trailed his vision along the midline of your belly, chewing on the inside of his lip as he studied your thickness. When he looked down at the join of your legs, staring at your fat pussy hidden under the thin fabric of your suit, his whole body sighed. You watched his bones sag and reset themselves, his jaw working through its hinge once and then twice as if he was chewing on cold mastic.

Just when you thought he would reach out to touch you, or maybe snap another picture, he bent down a little further and picked up your fallen book. As he crouched there beside you, he flipped a few pages back and forth until he seemed to find what he was looking for. A twitch of a smile pulled at his full mouth, and he laid the book back on the grass, open to the scene he wanted you to discover.

His eyes gave you one last look, wistful almost, and then he returned to his yard. Now, you just had to wait for him to look away for long enough that you could pretend to wake up from your nap. Luckily, he ducked into his shed for a moment, taking out new tools to use, and while he was busy organizing his equipment, you roused yourself from your farce.

You were soaking wet. You could feel the slide of your desire between your soft lips, and your mind was buzzing with adrenaline.

As casually as you could, you reached over and grabbed your book, tossing your bookmark into the page he’d kept for you, forcing yourself to wait until you were in the safety of your own home to see what he had wanted to show you.

You got up from your hammock and stretched, gathering up your belongings and making a slow but deliberate trek back indoors. When you noticed him looking over, you turned to wave, giving him what you hoped was a typical, neighborly smile. He smiled back but didn’t return the gesture, resting his hands on the handle of a long spade, watching you as you sealed yourself back indoors.

The moment you shut the door, you opened the book, desperate to read the scene he wanted you to see. It was a raunchy moment for the main characters with the hero burying his face between his paramour’s thighs, eating his fill of her. Just the thought of John Price wanting to perform this scene with you was enough to make you clench your knees together with lurid want. You let your hand slip over the top of your swimsuit bottoms, and you teased yourself to a quick, vicious orgasm right in the middle of your kitchen, sinking down to the floor in a wet, inglorious puddle.

The next few days passed without incident. You weren’t even sure if he was home. But, one afternoon, you were both getting the mail, and he was carrying in a long box. It was about half as tall as he was, and it didn’t look lightweight.

“Wow,” you raised your voice a bit to get his attention, “You’ve got quite the package.”

You hadn’t initially intended for the innuendo, but you weren’t mad about it. You even gave him a knowing smile, acknowledging the line. He chuckled, the sound of it creating a churning feeling deep in your core,

“Telescope. Your creek had a kingfisher in it last week, and I’m hoping to see him again.”

“Oh, cool,” you walked a little closer, making your conversation more intimate, pretending to be interested in birds for once in your life, “Is that a rare bird?”

His warm purr turned to a suggestive growl, soft and trapped in his throat, and the fire in his eyes made your blood run hot, but he wasn’t excited about birds. He was excited about you.

“Aye, the rarest,” he nodded, pointing up to his main bedroom’s balcony on the second level, “I think I’ve got a decent view from there. This thing comes with a camera attachment, so I’ll try to catch him for you.”

“That’s really awesome,” you grinned, noticing that his balcony also had a pretty damn good view of your own bedroom window, “I bet you’ll get some great shots. Can’t wait to see them.”

“You bet,” he grinned knowingly, dragging his huge package back inside.

That night, you watched him setting it all up, spying on him from your own bedroom window. He was fixing the telescope on your creek, making sure the angle was just right. So, you decided to make it worth his while.

In the purple dusk, you found yourself walking out into your backyard in nothing but a thin mesh cover-up. It was barely enough to be publicly decent, but as soon as it got wet, you knew it would show everything. It took all your power not to glance over your shoulder at him as you stepped into the creek, but you kept your cool. Face forward, sinking slowly into the water for a quick dip.

You settled into the stream, kneeling on the soft rocks, playing in the babbling waters, pretending to relax after a long day. You started skimming for pretty stones, leaning forward to wet the top of your cover-up, feeling the fabric cling to your peaked nipples, knowing they would be very much on display through the tissue-thin mesh.

Unable to stand it any longer, you dared to glance up at the balcony. There, sitting behind his brand new scope, was your hot neighbor, staring through the lens trained right on you. A rush of desire hit you like a drug, and you made yourself bravely gaze into the lens, peering through the dark glass, knowing he would see you looking.

Then, when he didn’t react, you pushed the envelope. You dropped the pretty rock you had in your palm and scooped up a handful of water between your hands, holding them together like a bowl. Then, you poured it on your neck, letting the cool liquid soak the rest of your top, making your garment entirely transparent and sticking to your body like latex.

Every moment that passed made you more brazen. You began to trace the outline of your collarbone, rubbing the side of your neck, pretending to massage away the stress.

Your eyes kept glancing to his spot, looking at him as he stared at you. This time, when you looked back, his body illuminated by his outdoor light, you saw something magical. His hand was stuck down his black, athletic shorts, and he was slowly jerking his cock back and forth, pleasuring himself as he watched you moonbathe in your stream.

Now, you locked eyes with the scope, and you turned your body towards him, making sure he knew that this show was for him. You moved your hands to your hanging breasts, circling them and pressing them together, holding them through the wet mesh. It felt so nice to squeeze them and feel the pleasure you were crafting, so you began to play with your nipples, plucking them and pinching the tips, being gentle and cruel, letting your eyes and mouth soften as you teased your own body.

You wondered if he was taking pictures or not. Maybe a video? You didn’t care. You wanted him to take them. You wanted him to take you, if he would have you.

When he saw evidence of your want, he pulled his cock free from his shorts, and now he was very clearly jerking off, using his precome to shine his shaft to a wet gleam. You wished you could taste it. You wanted to study the fullness of his head, suckling on the drooling tip, and you wanted to trace the veins of his shaft like rivers on a map, blue and full of his warm blood.

Just the thought of how his fat dick would feel inside of you was sending you over the edge. So, you sank one of your hands between your legs to relieve some tension, massaging your clit in frantic circles under the water. You must have gotten lost in your own ministrations, because when you snapped back to reality and focused on the balcony again, he was gone.

At first, your heart sank, disappointed that he was finished with your display. Then, you heard the slam of a door and looked down into his backyard. There he was, a tight white tee shirt stretching over his broad shoulders, his cockhead trapped in the elastic of his shorts, the outline of it visible as he walked, barefoot, straight towards you.

You stared at him in shock, not knowing what to do. He looked like he was in a rage. His brow was set in a determined line, and a frightened thrill writhed its way along your spine. Was he angry with you for being so indecent? For teasing him with your lewdness?

He said nothing as he approached, and you thought he would stop at the bank of the creek, but he didn’t. He came splashing right through the water, making his way right over to the spot where you were kneeling, reaching out and grabbing you tightly around your shoulders, lifting you out of the water in a wet, chaotic mess.

You were pressed against his body, getting his clothes all wet, gasping from the shock of his aggression. You started to protest, trying to get your footing, but his mouth silenced your words. John pressed his lips to yours in a ferocious kiss, invading you with his long tongue, and sucking on your bottom lip hard enough for it to sting.

He pulled away and began to bite and lick his way down your neck, stealing your breath and stumbling through the creek as he devoured you, marching you backwards, awkward and halting, all the way to the shallow near the bank. Then, just when you could feel the pebbles give way to the sand and mud of the shoal, you felt him shove you to the ground. You landed hard on your rump, gasping from the violence of it, trapped somewhere between terror and ecstasy.

“John, I wa–”

He fell to his knees and kissed your words away again, tasting you over and over, committing your flavor to memory, fisting your hair to control the way you kissed him back, stealing you from yourself like a thief.

You were being covered, inch by inch, with his heavy body, and he leaned over you, kissing and sucking and licking and biting whatever his mouth could reach. He moved to your nipple, suckling on you through the thin mesh of your cover-up, the warmth of his tongue a stark contrast to the chill of the wet fabric. He stayed there for as long as he wanted, groping and pinching your other breast as he sucked on you, making you whimper from the overstimulation. Then, he sat back on his heels, his knees still stuck in the shallow water of the creek, your bodies half-in and half-out of the span.

He was peering down at you and panting. You were both breathing hard, your chests heaving, staring at each other like a predator with its prey, not knowing which one you were but dying to be the latter.

John seemed like he was waiting for something, and when you saw his eyes move down your body to stare at your pussy, you knew what he wanted. So, very slowly, you opened yourself up to him, unfolding your legs from your center, blooming for him like a dew-soaked flower, ready to present your sticky nectar to him. The sigh of relief that rattled through his body made you want to come.

He fell to his chest, clutching your hips in his huge, strong hands, lifting you to his mouth as he began to eat you from the inside. His tongue prodded and curled, searching for your favorite spots, finding them with a suspicious ease. Licking across your clit, his mouth created wet, pornographic noises, and he groaned as he ate, unable to hold back his expression of pleasure with every brain-breaking suck and lick.

When you cried out from the immediate response your body sent slashing through your belly, he looked up from his work, but he didn’t stop. His eyes, pale blue and feral, caught yours and something inside of them forced you to stay on him, unable to look away, trapped like a rabbit in a snapping snare.

His steady, forceful suckling dragged you to an orgasm, making you tremble and wriggle against his jaws, your body sliding in the muddy bank of the stream. You felt him pull away, and you thought he was done, the spell broken by your keening completion. But, he stripped off his shirt and raked the band of his shorts under his enormous sack, presenting his engorged prick to you like a present.

Looking down at you, his eyes hooded, the pupils blown, you knew he was waiting again. Waiting for you to let him in. You were already spread open for him like a wanton whore, barely clothed and filthy from the ground. So, you reached between your thighs to cradle the underside of his shaft, petting him gently, tugging him forward in invitation.

His nonverbal viciousness was making you feel like you were under his spell, so you dared not speak lest it could be broken. Wordlessly, you pulled him toward your dripping hole, coaxing him in, letting him know he was more than welcome in your body’s sacral embrace.

A deep, demonic moan fell from his lips as he let his heavy cockhead slot itself between your lips. You took your hand away, returning to your breasts, playing with yourself just as you had in his telescope, letting him see you bring yourself pleasure at your delicate peaks.

Hungry, he thrust himself forward through your folds, slipping in your wetness, the weeping slit of his tip bullying your clit with every forward motion. Back and forth, he slid through you, slicking himself in your flesh, using himself like a toy in your sensitive petals.

You couldn’t help but whine for him. It felt mind-numbingly delicious to be played with in this way, and his rocking undulations drove you to the point of madness. You began to hump his shaft like a naughty dog, eager for everything he was giving you and more. His cock was big enough to be a challenge, but you were up for it. You didn’t care if it hurt. You wanted to feel him invading you, claiming you like an animal out here in the stream.

Finally, when John couldn’t wait any longer, he allowed his head to slip down and notch in the pliant sling of your quim, moaning just as desperately as you had been as he felt you swallow his tip inside of your hole.

“Nhgh,” he clenched his teeth as he pressed his hips forward, his hand grabbing your hip hard enough to bruise, holding you in place so you couldn’t escape him, as if you wanted to, “Bloody hell, you’re so wet for me.”

You cried out as he pried you open, his heavy shaft too thick for your unpracticed slit,

“John… it’s so big… oh, God…”

His grimace morphed into a smile, and he slid himself out before pumping forward again, trying to fit his thick rod into your cunt,

“Thought you could just give me a fuckin’ show. Thought I’d just watch, that I’d let you get away with it.”

He shoved himself forward, forcing a shrill scream from your lips, laying himself over you and trapping you between his arms. As he began to thrust himself into you, dragging himself out and punching himself back in, you felt hot tears sting your eyes with their salt, overwhelmed by the blinding pleasure you were experiencing.

“Fuckkkkk,” you watched as his eyes rolled back in his head as he cursed at the feeling of your body clenching around him, stuck in the feeding-bleeding cycle of your shared bliss, “Rub that pussy for me, love.”

You obeyed, following his eyes as he watched your fingers make their little ovals in the plushness of your flesh. He groaned, pleased, and set himself to his task. As he fucked you, he began in steady, pumping thrusts. You could have kept time with his momentum, shocked by his consistency. He never faltered, he never weakened; he simply fed himself to you, in and out, stuffing you full of his hard length and rubbing at your softest, deepest places.

Between his steady sex and your familiar touch, you were falling over yourself in an embarrassingly short time, your pussy already primed for pleasure, horny beyond belief, tingling and eager to throb around his shaft in celebration. He bent to kiss you on your sensitive neck, sucking against your skin, mean enough to leave a mark, whispering a chaotic mess of messages to you as he was lost in the thrall of fucking you into the dirt,

“Feel you wantin’ to come, pretty bird. Sing for me, yeah? Let me hear you scream for me.”

This couldn’t be real. His filthy talk was pulling you deeper and deeper into your mounting orgasm, and you felt the line snap. Your body began to tense up, your muscles tight and shaking, and you could felt the rush of your come coating you both from the inside. You were feeling completely unbound, and you had to stop touching your clit. It was too much, but he wasn’t having it,

“Don’t stop. Don’t… C’mere.”

He shoved your hand away and took over for you, fucking you and rubbing you, refusing to let you escape from his efforts. His touch flung you back into an orgasmic whirlpool, making you dizzy, tricking you into thinking you had finally stopped coming and then proving you wrong. He was dragging them out of you, ragged and nasty, moaning from your screams and from the gripping, pulsating tightness of your pussy.

“That’s it. Such a pretty song. Keep singin’ for me, love. Makes me wanna fuckin’ fill you up with my come.”

“I’m… John, please… Mmngh!” You fell apart, your orgasm turning you into a brainless little fucktoy for him, your body betraying you, defecting to his side, willing to listen to his every command.

He took his hand away, and you sighed in relief until you realized he had new plans for you. He pulled away, sitting back and flipping you over with frightening ease, helping you to your knees before feeding himself back inside of you from behind. Your chest was pressed down into the mud, the cold ground stinging your swollen nipples, the smell of the wet dirt heady in your nose.

“Pretty bird. Look at this fat fuckin’ arse,” he grunted, slapping you hard on your right cheek.

“Angh!” You cried out.

“Perfect,” he smiled, showing you his sharp teeth as you stared at him over your shoulder.

He hunched himself over your body, humping his fat prick into you like a dog, grinding himself into your hole with wet, milking noises filling the night air as he fucked you in the dark. John was pumping himself hard enough in you that you thought you might bruise. You knew your pussy was helpless to his invasion, and it trembled with every thrust, trying its best to flood you with your own lubrication, doing everything it could to help you cope.

Frantic, John wrapped his hand around the base of your neck, holding you beneath him, pressing his hips even closer so he could reach his crown to new depths. The angle forced you to arch your back and he rewarded you for it, rubbing his hand along your ribs before reaching under your cover-up to hold your breast in his palm, gripping you fiercely.

“Holy hell, this tight little cunt’s gonna make me come, baby,” he purred into your ear, bending himself over you, increasing his pace and his power, watching the pleasure-packed tears roll down your cheeks, “You want it? You want my fuckin’ come? Want me to put it right here?”

You felt his hand reach around your leg so that he could press his fist against your womb, making your body feel every inch of him even tighter inside of you, allowing you to know exactly just how deep he was rutting into you.

“Please, John… I need…” You tried to answer, but you were fuck-drunk and dumb. You were nothing more than his cocksleeve. You were made for him to pump his load into you. That was all you wanted. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else even existed. Your whole world fell away, replaced by your neighbor’s pounding rod.

“Tha’s it, pretty bird,” he rolled his fist against your lower belly in deep, massaging circles, flinging you into a rolling orgasm, “The louder you scream, the harder I’ll fuckin’ come.”

His groaning turned into animalistic grunting, shouting, growling despair, and he sank himself down into you, flush with his girthy base, fully sheathed in your hot core. You could feel him filling you with his creamy orgasm, letting rope after rope shoot into your body, trapped inside by his thick root.

John’s breath was hot against your cheek, and he kissed his way down your body as he pulled himself away. The long retreat of his shaft made you feel like your soul was being ripped from your chest, and the wet, gooey noise of his spend sliding out of you turning your heart inside out. You collapsed to the ground, not caring in the least about the mud, nor its cold, clinging, filth; you just breathed and trembled, used and spent.

You thought he would leave you where he found you, his cruel love shaming him into fleeing such a scene of terrible waste. But, he didn’t. He shucked off his shorts and pulled your cover-up off of you, letting it slap down into the shoal. Then, he scooped you up in his arms and waded with you back into the creek, laying you in the running water, black with the night’s dark sky above you, cold against your sensitive flesh.

You shivered, curling into him, and you felt his hands using the clear water to wash you clean. He was clearing the sand out of your hair and off of your skin, gently as he could, caring for you like a precious pet, baptizing you in his own praises. Telling you how good you were for him, how you were his pretty bird, how he would take care of everything.

When he was done, he lifted you out of the stream and carried you to the yard, heading for his backdoor. He nudged it open and lifted you all the way up the stairs, single-minded on his mission. You were in and out of consciousness, too weak to protest, and when he finally lay you in his own bed, he wrapped you in a towel he pulled from his bathroom, using another to dry himself off as well.

You groaned, trying to get up, but he lay himself on top of you, fidgeting with the covers under you were under him and the sheet, locked against his naked body.

“I should go… “ You whispered, trying to fight the sleep that was seeping into your mind.

You felt the prod of his cock, hard once more, and you whined from the absurdity of your sore hole being asked to stretch again for him.

He pushed himself inside with little resistance this time, and started the process again, taking your primed body like you were made for it. Like it was your one, true purpose.

“I can’t,” you whimpered, panting and curling against him, “Don’t make me come again.”

“Shh,” John said, kissing you quiet, “Hush, love. I’m not fuckin’ finished.”

You couldn’t remember how many orgasms he had pulled from you, but when you woke the next morning, his arm wrapped tight around your breasts, you felt like you had transcended. You were on a whole new plane of existence, and although you were bruised, used, and soaking in his milky seed, you were well and truly satisfied.

As your eyes adjusted to the light, you saw a picture of yourself come into view. You were on his nightstand, dressed in your white bikini, pretending to sleep with your book by your side. It was trapped beneath a pane of glass, gleaming in the dawn, surrounded by a proud frame.

That’s weird, you thought. Framing it was a little odd. But, then, you saw the rest. All over his wall, the one that faced your bedroom, pictures of you covered the sheetrock like wallpaper. You stopped breathing. All you could see were pictures of you from every different angle and position. Some were of you getting dressed in your bedroom, and some were of you shopping at the store. Some were close portraits, and some were taken in places you didn’t even remember. They were everywhere, floor to ceiling, pasted very meticulously to the plaster. And you were in every one.

You hadn’t realized he was awake yet, but you knew he had been watching you examine his gallery when his palm covered your mouth stopping you in the middle of your scream.

#cali’s kinktober #kinktober 2024 #cod kinktober #call of duty kinktober #graviora manent #by the californicationist #x female reader #x fem!reader #captain john price #captain price x reader #neighbor john price #and they were neighbors #yandere male #dont like dont read #seriously get fucked

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domesticandlovingmonsters · 7 months ago

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Pick Your Romance Starter- Dark Fae Addition

Plot/Story: Oh no, you've fallen into the Fae Realm through a circle of mushrooms. How convenient, I mean inconvenient! And look, there's some hot Fae men wanting you're attention...how so very clique. But they're not all flowers and sunshine. That would be too damn easy, wouldn't it?

Warnings: Dark Fae, slight non-con touch, blood, 10k words

Notes: The dry-spell has finally worn off and I present to you a little morsel of writing.

Poll is 'here' (Patreon) and here (Tumblr)to choose which character is written for first!

Poll has been finished! Hezirus got the pick. Here is another poll to choose what type of spicey story you want with him.

This is all based on a world built together with a friend. The characters are OCs of mine we play with and use in our stories together. And for your amusement, and torture for my friend, I have started a series where you pick which one I write for first.

This will be a heavy female x male character story. I apologize to my MxM and FxF readers. But I do plan on making these three fuck eventually. Just because it's fun.

And by all means, give me ideas and feedback. I crave the attention!

Enjoy!

The sharp iron-like smell filled your senses and you felt yourself falling. The warm night air turned bitterly cold and the light from the street disappeared into a wall of black. You blinked. The wind whooshing around you was as loud as a hurricane; before your feet slammed onto stone and you stumbled into something hard and cold. And everything went unnaturally quiet.

You opened your eyes. Blinking rapidly to remove the haziness from your vision as you reached out, calling for your friend. It was dark. Too dark for your eyes just yet.

Your fingers found the cold bars of something circling you. Your hand followed it until you pushed away and stood on your own two feet. Swaying a little, the alcohol still affected your body even as the adrenaline coursed through you.

Finally, after some more blinking and squinting into the dark, your eyes adjusted. And horror filled your stomach as you looked around you.

You were in a cage. An iron cage in the center of a dark room. The floor, the pillars, the walls, all made from gray, smoothed stone. Dust layered the ground like a blanket around your small prison. And thick, but empty, cobwebs lined the corners of the room.

It didn’t look like anyone had been in here for…a very long time.

Your eyes caught the faintest touch of blue light on the floor and you looked down. Finding a glowing ring of sigils carved into the floor, fully encircling your cage. And everytime you moved, the strange letters pulsed with energy and that sharp smell filled your nose once more.

Something in you whispered that it was the same diameter of the mushroom circle you had jumped into… And with that thought, horror filled you. It had happened. It actually…worked. But not in the way you expected.

You don’t know how long you stood in that cage for, calling out into the darkness. It was long enough that the effects of tonight's drinks had worn off and the feeling of dehydration was starting to kick in.

The cold of the room settled on your skin like ice. And you tried to huddle up as much as you could, trying to preserve as much body heat as possible. But the cold iron and the freezing stone was sapping away at your warmth like a hungry beast.

Eventually, just as you started to think you’d be in this dark room forever, a door opened. One you didn’t see at the far end of the room that spilled bright, warm sunlight into the shadows. Making the twilight scatter and your eyes hurt from the blinding rays.

“Well, well, well, I thought all my little traps had been sealed off.” A velvety voice echoed from the doorway. The very sound settled on your skin like the breeze of an autumn afternoon. “What a surprise, indeed.”

Something shifted to your right but when you looked, only darkness stared back. Hiding behind a stone pillar, escaping the bright morning light.

You blinked until the sunlight stopped blinding you and the stranger approached. His boots echoed in the empty room as he closed the distance. His face silhouetted by the soft glow of the blue circle at his feet.

He was handsome. Very handsome. The type of handsome you would take a second glance at because you weren’t sure if your brain properly processed his face. His hair was a slight mess, a dark but silky tangle of blonde and deep brown. Matching a gaze that was fixed, but curious. And you felt every inch of your skin alight with a cold fire when those copper coloured eyes raked over your body. Not an inch of you was left untouched by his gaze. And it left you a little breathless when he smiled.

But your mind was racing. A voice deep within your mind was telling you to run. To hide. Get away from this man and never look back.

“What’s your name, sweet thing?” The man asked. The softest curl of a smirk twitching the corner of his lips.

But you didn’t give it. You weren’t stupid. And you remembered what happened. You jumped into a ring of mushrooms and suddenly you were falling. Even if you could blame this on a drunken dream, you still didn’t give this man your name.

When you didn’t reply, the smirk stretched fully across the stranger's face. “Ah, so you’re smart. That’s cute. I haven’t had a smart one in a long time. Come along, then. Let’s get you cleaned up. You’re exactly what I need to make up for my little blunder last night.”

The cage groaned around you and three of the metal bars slid into the ground. Allowing you a doorway to step out of your small prison and into the stream of light from the door.

The stranger didn’t look at you as he led the way out of the cold stone room. But still addressed you as you stepped out into the light. “My apologies for leaving you in that cold room all night. We had a little…accident, and I was busy until this morning.”

The man led you into a long corridor of more stone. Though the temperature was vastly more welcoming than the room, it was just as empty and just as dusty. You passed many doors like the one from where you landed. Some were left open, revealing more empty areas with a single cage. Others were closed but something dark marked the metal entryway. It looked suspiciously like old blood.

If this stranger saw you staring, he didn’t give any move to answer your unspoken questions. He led you up a spiraling staircase and a door of heavy carved wood and granite, creaked open before he touched it. Opening up into a sprawling room of many desks and shelves and cabinets.

“Clean her.” The stranger said. And from beneath the desks, dark tendrils launched towards you. Black, clawed hands wrapped around your wrists and ankles. Icy cold fingers latched onto your throat, squeezing just enough to silence the scream of fright from your lungs. Iron strength yanked you forward, making your attempts at fleeing fruitless as you were dragged towards a large basin.

More arms of shadows rose from the stone floor and you watched as steaming hot water was poured into the tub. Buckets of water manifesting from darkness and then disappearing when dropped to the floor.

You didn’t get to take a breath before you were lifted and then dumped into the basin. Hot water burned your skin and drenched your clothes. You gasped for air, but a cold hand slammed your head back under the water and you felt harsh bristles scrape over your bare skin. Something sweet smelling poured onto your hair as your head was yanked back out of the water for a brief moment

You coughed and spluttered, barely getting a breath in before you were dunked back into the water.

Your clothes were torn away. Despite your best effort to keep them against your skin, the material ripped apart under the strength of these shadowy limps. You wrapped your arms around your chest, obscuring the man’s beautiful gaze from seeing too much.

His smile was too sweet. Too wide as you were finally released and you turned your back to him. Your skin burned from the brush and soap. Your hair felt silky and smelled like a field of freshly bloomed flowers. But you were completely bare in front of him.

“That’s much better.” The man said. Leaning against a desk nearby. His molten gaze took in every inch of you before he waved his hand and a shadow presented him with a dress. “Wear this. It suits you much better than…whatever else you were wearing.”

When you didn’t get out of the tub, the man sighed and rolled his eyes. Then he turned around so he was leaning against the desk with his palms on the surface of the table. “I won’t look. Go on, try it on.”

You hesitated. But already the water was starting to get cold and you couldn’t sit in here forever. Curled up and shivering. You sighed heavily and carefully slipped out of the water.

Another shadow appeared beside you with a towel. But it didn’t allow you to take it. Instead, it dried you off, harshly rubbing the soft material against your body until your skin felt sore from the material. But dry.

You grumbled a curse towards the man and snatched the dress from the floating shadow.

Surprisingly, the man kept his word and didn’t turn around. Until you were in the dress and staring down at yourself in horror.

The material was thin…extremely thin… You might as well stand in front of him naked without the gentle glimmer of the sparkly dress. And it was very tight. You could see every curve of your breasts and hips, down to your thighs before the dress spilled out around your feet like a bronze ink spill. The only saving grace to this material was that it darkened around your chest and lower center. Refusing to give a full, clean picture of your body that was hidden beneath the dress.

It didn’t stop the perked peaks of your nipples from the cold air. And the stranger hummed a low sound in his throat as he adjusted the sleeve of the dress and picked at some imaginary lint on your waist.

“Much, much better.” The man said. He started to circle you. His eyes scraped over your body as you stood frozen under his gaze. He picked at the dress and the shadows appeared with trinkets and jeweled chains. Your wrists were wrapped in silk and your neck was decorated by a thin, delicate silver chain with topaz stones resting warmly against your neck. A belt of lace loosely circled your hips and your cheeks were assaulted by a dusting of red. Giving you a small blush before cold hands grabbed your face and the man stepped closer.

His forefinger lengthened, growing a black claw that came to a dangerously pointed tip. And you tried to yank yourself away from him but the shadows held you firmly in place. You could only watch in growing horror as the dark talon descended towards your eye…and cautiously drew a line along your upper lashes. Then the man delicately did the same on the other. Giving you a perfect dark eye-liner flick.

The man then stood back. His other hand held your chin as he tilted your face back and forth, admiring the touches he did to you. The shadows relaxed when you did. And you allowed this stranger to do what he wished with your face.

“What’s your name?” You asked him. Finding this close proximity with the handsome face was filling your chest with sharp flutters. You could see the finer details. The sharp, pointed ears. The tattoos under the collar of his shirt and the dusting of gold along his face. Perhaps a decorative choice?

“Jackal Borcalas, Royal Archivist and Spy Master of the Wilds” His smile was predatory. Proud. Cocky. As if the widening of your eyes gave him a sense of smugness. “But Jackal is fine, sweet thing. And yours?”

He said it so casually you almost willingly gave it to him. Like carrying on a normal conversation. But you clapped your mouth shut and glared up at Jackal. Rewarding yourself with a laugh from the Spy Master.

“Ah, well, you can’t blame a man for trying.” Jackal said, shrugging. Then his hands moved from your face down to your body. Adjusting chains and bracelets and anything else the shadows had placed on you.

But you found his hand barely touched you. His fingers brushed over your hips but didn’t linger for too long. The pads of his fingers glossed over your perked nipples but his eyes didn’t stray any longer than they needed. His attention was too focused on his task that you doubted he even knew where he was touching.

“Gorgeous.” Jackal purred. And despite the hungry look in his eyes, you sensed the genuine compliment behind his words. Or was that just a…Fae thing to get you comfortable around him. “Now, a few things before I throw you to the wolves.”

You felt the blood drain from your face with his words. And that wicked smile returned, alongside the cold touch of shadows as they wrapped around your legs and started moving them. You felt like a doll on strings, puppeteered after Jackal as he turned and exited the room.

Your captor led you into more corridors and halls. Many stone steps and coloured glass windows that bathed you in greens and golds and bronze. You didn’t get to look around. The shadows had you transfixed on watching Jackal’s back as he walked through…wherever you were.

“If you want to live through the day, you will follow these rules to the absolute letter. Do not look directly into his eyes. He gets…crabby when you do it for too long. And keep your hands off of him unless he places them somewhere. He doesn’t like to be touched. Do not turn your back on him unless he tells you to do so, and for the love of the Moon, do not touch his horns. Just…keep your hands to yourself unless you’re ordered otherwise.” Jackal said all this while he led you towards a massive metal door. The shadows relieved their hold just enough that you could finally look around you. But your gaze was transfixed on the entrance before you.

Towering above you was a grotesque, twisted display of melted weapons and armor. Swords Maces Axes Shields Any and all kinds had been liquified against the doors. You spotted helmets and chest plates carved through with spears. All dented, all worn, from battle.

“Oh, and also, for my later entertainment, keep yourself alive.” Jackal whispered, looking over your shoulder at him. “We haven’t had a human here in…centuries. So try to make your stay last a little longer than a few minutes.”

With a wave of Jackal’s hand, the war-torn doors opened with an ear-clawing sound of metal on the stone floor.

A blast of heat slammed into you as a voice as deep as thunder growled from within a dimly lit room. “What do you want, snake?” Your very bones vibrated with the voice. And a knot of fear coiled in your stomach as Jackal entered the room.

The shadows had you follow him and you entered a room that was more like a throne room. It was a vast space of furs and blankets. Blazing fires were cradled in braziers along the walls and candles flickered on hanging chandeliers made of bone and skulls. The scent of sulfur and burning meat filled your nose and you tried not to gag as you passed a body laying on the floor. Three deep gashes tore up the person’s back and blood pooled around their limp body. Their face twisted in agony and terror.

Jackal didn’t even look at it. He continued to stroll into the heated room towards a pile of furs and hides.

“I brought you a gift.” Jackal said. His voice echoing in the massive room. Mixing with the heavy breathing of something huge in front of you. The shadows didn’t let you go. They kept you firmly in place behind Jackal.

Something sniffed the air. And you felt the very air around you shift with each deep breath. You started shaking as the tiled floor trembled. The blast of heat came closer and closer. The heat in the room roared and you felt like your arms were being scorched by a blazing fire. Your ears popped and the tremble through the floor halted, but you heard the distinct sound of bare feet stepping over tile towards you.

And then Jackal stepped to the side and you were suddenly staring at a broad chest of muscle and scales.

The shadows released your head. Allowing you to look up, almost craning your neck all the way back, to meet a burning red gaze of a man. He was massive, much taller than 6ft and broad, rippling with muscle. Scars streaked across his arms and chest, giving a stark pale contrast to his dark complexion. A creature of war and battle.

But what was more terrifying was the plating of black scales that protruded from his dark skin. Horns swept out from atop his head. Splitting apart thick, shiny black hair that was braided amongst the crown of thick spikes. And his gaze was heavy. Watching. Calculating.

Jackal tsked harshly and you quickly dropped your eyes. Remembering what Jackal had said only moments before.

The man in front of you growled, a deep rumble that rippled through you like thunder. “A human?” A voice of stone sounded surprised. And you flinched when a massive hand wrapped around your waist, his fingers almost completely encircling your hips, and yanked you closer.

Black scales filled your vision as the man buried his nose into your hair. You felt him take a deep breath and the growl turned into something like a broken purr as the man laughed a cynical chuckle. “Is this your way of saying sorry, snake?” The scaled man snapped at Jackal. Releasing you before stalking over to the much smaller man.

Despite their size difference, and the display of bared teeth from the other man, Jackal remained perfectly calm. His hands resting behind his back as if he was having a casual conversation with someone.

“This is my way of mending my mistake.” Jackal replied slowly. “Hezirus will want her for himself. But I thought you should get some time with her before she’s claimed entirely. I thought it would be a nice…treat, Maahes, from me to you. From a friend.”

That word brought a snarl out of Maahes. Like he didn’t like how it sounded coming out of Jackal’s mouth. “Watch it, snake. You almost cost me my territory last night. A morsel won’t make up for that blunder.”

“Then let it be the start of my amendment to you.” Jackal titled his chin down in a submissive display. And whatever rage Maahes had, seemed to melt away. You felt the sharp tang of something hit your nose and suddenly the beast in front of you roared.

Claws raked through the marble pillar where Jackal had been standing moments before. Then you felt the shadows retreat and Jackal was standing in the doorway behind you. An amused smile across his lips

Maahes roared again, crimson eyes glowing with a surge of anger. “Keep your filthy magic out of my head!”

The doors slammed closed with a thunderous bang as Jackal laughed. Leaving you alone with a creature that was practically shaking with rage.

Your eyes swooped to the floor when the beast looked at you. You heard the click of claws as he approached. Two dark tree trunks entered your view and you realized he was standing right in front of you. He at least wasn’t naked, wearing a loose pair of dark trousers. But the thin dress did very little to make you feel protected at this moment.

“What is your name?” Maahes asked. You didn’t respond, cowering in front of him. The beast snarled and a rough grip wrapped around the underside of your jaw and forced you to look up at him. You kept your gaze from staring into the pools of rubies, looking at the scar that carved down his neck and to his collarbone. “I am not a Fairy, sweet morsel. I won’t use your name against you. What do I call you?”

You felt him lift you a little. Until you were standing on your tiptoes to stop him from choking you. “(y/n)” You managed to say. And the grip released you.

“Get me a drink, (y/n).” Your name rolled on his tongue like he was tasting you through those words. It sounded awfully sinful to hear it. And you quickly hurried over to the table by the dead body. Where an array of goblets and bottles were laid out. You choose the largest cup and fill it with an amber liquid. You had to carry it with both hands to ensure it didn’t spill and didn’t strain one arm too much. Hurrying back to Maahes, who had returned to lounge on the pile of furs. Which even his massive frame seemed to be swallowed by the vast mattress of pelts.

The beast rumbled. But it wasn’t an aggressive sound. You almost thought he sounded pleased as you carefully climbed onto the furs and offered him the wine. He took the cup from your hands. And as he pressed the wine to his lips, his free hand lashed out and took purchase of your hips before you attempted to step away.

You couldn’t fight him. The amount of strength beneath those fingers alone was enough to pull you towards him with barely any effort.

You found yourself flush against his side. His scales, rough and jagged, pushed painfully against your soft skin. And once you were positioned how he wanted, the hand moved down to cup your ass. His talons caught on the material of your dress as he squeezed hard. Making you wince a little.

“How did the snake manage to catch you?” Maahes asked. Placing his cup precariously on a position of the bed as he moved so he was on top of you. His nose scraped against your neck and you felt his teeth playfully pull at the silver chain around your throat. “Trapping humans was outlawed centuries ago. Did he say some pretty words and you were suddenly here? Or did you fall through a mirror?”

His words were surprisingly teasing for how rough his hands were on your body. The pads of his fingers were calloused and coarse, sweeping along your thighs before moving you so he could settle between your legs. He was massive above you. Obscuring the ceiling and bone chandeliers with his mass.

You explained what happened. Recalling the ring of mushrooms on the side of the walkway on your way home. The stupid decision to test fate and jump into the circle. Laughing, thinking nothing would come of it. And then accidentally said ‘we’ jumped in, and those crimson eyes pulsed intensely.

“There’s two of you?” Maahes asked. Glancing at the door as if Jackal was about to come through it again with another person. You said you didn’t see your friend in the cage and the man shrugged. Returning his mouth to the hollow of your neck. His lips sending goosebumps along your skin as his hot breath bathed along your chest.

It was a long moment of licking and hard nips along your neck before Maahes changed position. Burying his face against your breasts. Even through the dress, you could feel his mouth hungrily take in your left nipple and rake his tongue over the peak.

“No matter. I’ll feast on you first before I worry about someone else's pet.” You felt him shift against you and something huge and hard pressed against your clothed core. Then Maahes raised his mouth and a burning hot tongue seared along your neck, carrying the smell of wine and meat along your flesh, up to your cheek before your lips were harshly trapped between Maahes’.

Your struggling only seemed to amuse Maahes. As you tried to push him off and twist away from him. But just as he forced your lips open with his tongue, the doors to the room blasted open in a cold gust of wind. The flames around you simmered out under the gust and the chandeliers swung wildly above you.

Maahes growled and tore his mouth from yours. He poised above you like a beast protecting a kill. Thick arms caging you against the bed as the sound of his snarl ripped through you. You could feel the vibrations through your core, from where his covered bulge was firmly pressed against your core.

You turned your head, peering around Maahes’ arms to see a gorgeous man standing in the streaming sunlight. Like an angel, wings of bronze and gold framed his tall figure and a thick set of arms were crossed over his chest. Lines crinkled his perfect brow and long chocolate brown hair was kept away from his face by a gold crown of gnarled vines and flowers.

“Maahes,” The man said the beast’s name like a warning. But his tone was playful, teasing. “What have you got there?”

Maahes’ snarl crumbled into a softer sound. But he didn’t move from atop of you. His talons ripped into the furs as his hands turned to fists beside your body. “She’s mine.”

“Not anymore she isn’t.” The angel said. Stepping into the dark room, closer to the creature that was bent low over your frozen body. “I caught her scent on my way to breakfast. I don’t know how Jackal got her, but she’s a guest in my palace. I won’t have you break her on her first morning here.”

Soft, bronze eyes fell upon you and his smile softened. But those warning bells in your head were singing again. Even more so than they had with Jackal. “Give her to me, Maahes.” The man said, his wings opening a touch to make him seem so much bigger than he was. “I won’t ask again.”

The beast above you growled deep and threatening. You braced for something to happen. Another gust of wind. A fist. Claws. Something.

But then the heavy, hot weight of Maahes disappeared as he crawled off of you. And you scrambled off the bed to stand beside the winged man. Hiding behind him as his wing opened to protect you from Maahes’ heated gaze. “Good boy.” The crowned stranger said. A very careful smile placed over his lips. “Do not let me catch you playing with her again.”

Maahes’ gaze lowered to the furs. But you could see the tension in his body and the thick, throbbing vein that was protruding from his neck. He bowed. “Yes, Prince Hezirus.”

That seemed to be enough for the…prince. And he turned, his wing shifting to envelope you in a warm embrace against your back and guiding you out of the room.

The heavy doors slammed shut behind you both. And the wings of the prince moved to lazily return to his back. A different type of heat simmered in his gaze when the prince turned to you. A striking difference from the softness he offered you before. “Now, human, you will tell me how you got here. And why you’re…dressed the way you are.” Despite the quizzical tone, Prince Hezirus’ eyes were just as hungry and heavy as Jackal’s when you first got dressed. You instinctively tried to cover yourself but a narrowed glare from the person in front of you made you halt.

Your arms dropped to your sides as you explained everything. But this time, you kept the ‘we’ out of it. Only insinuating that you alone jumped into the very obvious Fae trap.

“But you know our customs,” The prince hummed. Tilting his head like how a dog did when it was intrigued by something. “You won’t give me your name. You even called the circle a trap. So…you knew what it was.”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. The drunken stupor of a joke was now very obviously a suicide sentence. “I didn’t think it would work.” You argued. “I was…drunk.”

“Superstition has kept your people alive longer than you’d think. You should start listening to your fable stories, there’s a reason they exist.” The prince began walking and you hurried to follow. The tall man, possibly as tall as the beast on the furs, didn’t shorten his strides to let you keep up. Instead, you had to fasten your steps to almost jog alongside him.

“Where am I?” You asked. Finally looking at your surroundings. There were large paintings that covered the towering walls. The ceiling looked like marble with many hanging candles and torches to illuminate what the sun couldn’t. Massive glass windows bathed your walk with the prince in color. But at least this time you could see the shapes of beasts and battles and fields of flowers as you passed them.

It was all very beautiful.

“You’re in the Fae Wilds. My kingdom.” The prince replied. His chin tilted up with pride as he spoke. “I am Prince Hezirus of the Wilds. Son of Queen Melusine, the Lady of the Forest. You’re in my palace in the deepest forest of our kingdom. My…holiday home, I guess you would call it.”

You stalled for a moment to peek through one of the windows. Spying the grounds of the estate that sprawled out in grassy knolls and flowing creeks that sliced through lush gardens and tumbled through the gnarled roots of mountainous trees.

There were people working in the gardens and some walked the earthy paths through the estate. Someone even started flying into the branches of a nearby tree. With wings like an insect.

A soft cough from the prince made you turn. Finding him standing by the cliff of a long stairwell that led down and into the center of the palace. You quickly hurried back to his side and started descending next to him.

“It’s beautiful.” You said. Unable to keep your eyes on one thing at a time. A man walked past you both, bowing deeply to the prince before walking briskly away. His features reminded you of a rat.

“Thank you. But you will have time to see everything soon. I want you to join me for breakfast.” The prince said. And you followed him down a corridor and into a grand hall. A long table was presented before you. Its surface was chock-full of plates and bowls of food. All steaming, like the dishes had just come out of the oven.

At the end of the table sat a beautifully crafted chair of twisted roots and vines. The cushions looked as soft as clouds and a plate of sourdough bread, bathed in eggs and bacon with a drizzle of white sauce, was sitting awaiting the prince.

Hezirus waved his hand and a chair pulled itself from the table next to the prince. And Hezirus gestured for you to sit, before he flicked his hand and the chair pushed you snugly against the table. A plate was placed in front of you by an owl-faced woman and the prince seated himself in his chair.

Leaning his cheek on his fist, propped up by his elbow on the table, he watched you curiously. “Please, eat. Enjoy.”

The smells of everything laid out in front of you was maddening. Your stomach twisted in hunger and the slight hangover that had plagued you with a headache, wished for water. But you didn’t reach for any of it. And watched the prince take his gaze off you just enough to take a bite out of his egg smothered bread slice.

“So now you start to believe in your fables?” The prince asked. An amused smile twitching his lips as he chewed. “I do not need to charm you to keep you here, lovely thing. You may eat freely. This food is not poisoned and untouched by magic. Other than what is needed to prepare certain dishes.”

You still didn’t reach for anything. Not even the water. Which sat chilled in a glass pitcher in front of you. Like it was teasing you. You shook your head. “Thank you. But I’ll skip breakfast.”

The prince’s eyes flashed gold and suddenly you were reaching for the water. You tried with all your might to stop yourself from pouring a glass, but your hands worked just like they did when the shadows had hold of you.

Puppeteered.

Helpless.

You tried to cry out as your fingers brought the glass of water to your lips. But your body defied you. And you sipped cleanly, without choking, a long draught of water down your parched throat. Once you had placed the glass down you felt your body return to your control and you stood. Almost knocking the chair over as you jerked away from the table.

“Like I said, I do not need to charm you to make you stay.” The prince said. As if you had asked about the weather. So casually glossing over what he just did. “Your tales of us are true…in some sense. But we hold more power than we allowed you to believe. Please. Eat. You look like you’re about to pass out. And I won’t tell you again. You won’t like it if I have to do it myself.”

It was true. You could feel the edge of your mind falling into a dizzy spiral. And the thought of you passing out in front of him made the hunger turn to fear. You shook your head, clearing it, and sat down before your legs gave out. And begrudgingly served yourself some pancakes.

And it was the best thing you’ve ever eaten. Whether it was because of hunger, or the Fae chefs, it was delicious. Even the fruit you ate was sweet and juicy. Perfect. Also too perfect.

But if you didn’t eat, you were sure he’d probably force you too. So, you gave in. As much as the logical side of the brain was screaming at you to stop.

The prince’s gaze never left your lips as you ate. His eyes were persistently on you, even as he devoured his own breakfast and poured a cup of something that smelled strongly of coffee.

“Did Jackal explain anything to you before he shoved you into a room with a horny Drake?” The prince asked. An eyebrow raising when you told him of the rules Jackal gave you. And you added on that you were meant to be a treat, as a means of amendment from Jackal.“At least he wanted you to live through the morning. And yes, Jackal made a small mistake last night. Maahes exaggerates, it wasn’t so bad he’d lose his territory. He’s just angry he lost a bet at all. You were lucky I found you before Maahes went too far. I do enjoy it when Maahes is rough with me. But your delicate body would snap apart the moment he pulls down his pants.”

The rush of heat that exploded in your body, crawling up your neck and into your cheeks made the prince chuckle. “That’s adorable. But also very dangerous. Don’t do that around Maahes. If he gets whiff that you’re into things like him, you’ll be chained to his hips and riding his cock until your body breaks.”

You tried to argue. Maybe say something that it wasn’t arousal, but shock at the prince’s choice of words. But the prince shot you a look that silenced your rebuttal before it began. “I can smell it on you, pet. Don’t even try lying to my face. It won’t end well for you.” His words carried a threat that made your skin crawl with a chill. Even if his tone was light and teasing. Something in his gaze had your heart racing.

“What are you going to do to me?” You asked. You wanted to know, so you could at least brace for whatever was about to happen to you. How many books have you read about similar scenarios? You had the hot, sexy men part ticked off. A strange, weird place in the Fae realm, checked. But this wasn’t a romance. You were just left to the mercy of a creature with scales. Given a hint at the power that could make you do anything the man in front of you wanted.

Your life very much was in danger right now.

“Hmm, I’m not sure yet.” The prince said. Leaning back in his chair as he regarded you with a critical eye. Like he was appraising a piece of art. “But I’m sure you’re asking if I’m going to kill you. Eat your bones. Turn you into a…I don’t know. What do we Fae do to humans? It’s been centuries since I’ve talked to one. But you never forget the scent.” The prince breathed in deeply and released it slowly with a long sigh. When his eyes opened, his pupils were blown wide like he was intoxicated.

“Such a delicious fragrance. It used to drive me mad in my youth. The lust. The hunger. Oh, fuck, the sex…” The prince finally looked at you again. As if suddenly remembering you were there and had asked a question. “No, dear pet, I am not going to kill you. Some of my court might try. But I’ve already ordered them that you are to be untouched. Left only for me to squeeze.”

He flashed you a smile that made his already handsome face become even more beautiful. “Anyone that tries to force themselves on you will meet my wrath. You are welcome to wander the palace. I do suggest staying as far away from Maahes as possible. And don’t go into the gardens until-”

“If I may, Hez.” The sudden voice of Jackal made you jump as he appeared by your side. Seeming to appear out of thin air as he joined you at the table. Sitting to your right. “I suggest we keep her caged until the staff and court get used to the scent of her in the estate. Already there has been enough unrest that Maahes has had his fill of Fae blood. She will be safer in the dungeons until you solidify the order for her to remain untouched.”

The prince played with the fabric of his tunic as he thought over Jackal’s words. His eyes following the line of your neck to your shoulders and then to the material that smothered your breasts into a perfect soft mound. “You make a good point, Jackal. However…because it was your trap that brought her here, she is your responsibility.”

Jackal’s jaw twinged as he glanced at you. “Hez, I cannot afford to be distracted from my work. I cannot continuously check on her in the cells-”

“Then have her in your office until you ensure she won’t be touched down there.” The prince smiled. A sense of amusement flashing over his face as he winked at you. “Jackal will take fine care of you until I have time for you, pet. Stay close to him and do what he says.”

A sharp scent ripped through your nose and you winced as your mind latched onto the words the prince spoke. An order. An order given by a Fae prince laced with…magic.

“I don’t think she’s stupid enough to try and run from me.” Jackal said. Sighing heavily as he took a sausage from one of the plates and took a bite from it. “Come on then, Lily. Time to watch me do paperwork for hours on end.”

“Lily?” Hezirus asked as Jackal stood. You felt your body follow suit. But it wasn’t anything like the cold touch of shadows or the constricting power from Hezirus. You wanted to follow Jackal. You were told to do as he said, and damn well you will do it.

“It’s not her name.” Jackal assured the prince. “She’s as lovely as a lily. So, that’s what I’ll call her.”

“Hmm, I don’t think that suits her.” Hezirus said thoughtfully. Tilting his head as he looked you up and down again.

“Well, she’s your pet. You pick a name for her.” Then Jackal smiled viciously and tapped the tip of your nose. “Or are you going to introduce yourself?”

When your glare was the only reply they got, the two men laughed and Jackal clicked his tongue. You followed him like a puppy on a leash, up many staircases and through many corridors. Until you found yourself back in the room you started in. Where the basin had now been emptied of water but the room still smelled of the shampoo in your hair.

“Sit.” Jackal ordered. And your body slumped into a wooden chair by a large desk. One that was covered in many long pieces of parchment and piles of books. A few empty ink pots were put to the side. While a stack of new ones awaited to be used. “You might want to get comfortable. You’re going to be here for a while.”

You looked around. Attempting to get comfortable in the wooden chair next to Jackal’s desk. Much unlike the plush, armchair-like seat he possessed, the wood was hard against your ass and the surface cold to the touch.

A few minutes passed as Jackal opened a few books and arranged them to stand in small holders to keep them open. He arranged paper out in front of him and then opened a thick, leather bound book by his left hand. You tapped your fingernails against the wood of the chair. Already insane from the quiet of the room.

“Can I have a book or something?” You asked. And Jackal scoffed a laugh.

“I doubt I have anything here that you can read. It’s all documents and spellbooks; all in languages you can’t read.” Jackal waited for you to argue. But when you didn’t give a rebuttal about knowing more languages than one, he left it to rest. “If you’d like to pass the time, you’re more than welcome to pass the time on me.” The smile was playful. Menacingly teasing as he smirked at you when your cheeks flushed pink.

“You’re not going to order me to do that?” You asked scornfully. And Jackal shrugged, plucking a quill from its seat in an ink pot and started writing.

“I could. Since Hezirus gave you the order to do whatever I say. Or I could force you to do it with my servants. But it’s not as much fun when the giver uses teeth and tries drawing blood every second.” At the word ‘servants’ the shadows from beneath the desks nearby came alive and crawled over the floor towards you. You pulled your dress away from the curious clawed hands and the room filled with whispered laughter as you gasped in horror.

Jackal tsked and the shadows scattered. Returning to being nothing more than dark spots under the desks. “Now hush, I have to concentrate.”

You must have dozed off somewhere after the third hour mark of sitting and doing nothing. The room was bitterly cold now and you shifted in your seat. Trying to find a comfortable position when a touch of fire brushed over your thigh.

You jerked awake. Startling when you came face to face with Jackal. Who had turned his chair towards you and was sitting almost directly between your legs. Both of his hands were coiled around your right thigh. Molding the cool skin with his fingers so gently that it almost tickled.

“Get your hands-”

“Shush, I’m thinking.” Jackal barked back. And the harshness of his voice froze you in place. Or was it the order to do as he says? You had no idea, but you knew that you were helpless in that chair as he squeezed your leg like he was kneading dough into shape. Scraping his palm along your skin through the velvety material of your dress. You had to lean back as he lifted your calf and draped your leg over his lap. You were left completely open to him in this position. But Jackal didn’t seem to notice.

He never went any higher than your upper thigh. His eyes were distant, staring at your chest but not actually paying attention to the shape of your cleavage. It was just the last place he looked before his thoughts trailed off.

You kept quiet. At least welcoming the warmth from Jackal’s lap and touch over your chilled skin.

Any longer here and you were going to freeze. You’d even welcome the harsh treatment of the hot bath just to warm you up. The dress was useless against the breeze that blew in from the open window. And the sun was beginning to go down.

Shit…have you already been here the entire day? No wonder your back was killing you.

Jackal startled you by humming and dropping your leg from his lap. Non-delicately letting your bare foot slap against the stone and you shuffled back onto the chair. He returned to his desk and started feverishly writing something down.

You stayed silent. Kicking your leg over the other to try and savor some of the tingling warmth from Jackal’s fingers. You hated how tenderly he had touched you. Because your core kind of enjoyed the attention.

The sky outside was pitch black and somewhere in the castle, you heard distant screams. It had started some hours ago and had long since lost its pitch. But the volume was still there. Telling you of the absolute agony that was ripping through someone.

“It’s no one you know.” Jackal assured you. Seeing your worried expression. “Maahes told me that there was a second human that jumped in the trap with you. And so far, I haven’t found them. Even if someone already claimed your friend, there would be traces of her. When a Fae consumes or fucks a human there’s…changes.”

That was at least comforting. But hearing such visceral cries turned your blood cold and nausea twisted in your stomach.

They were cut off rather quickly some hours after nightfall. And you weren’t sure if the silence following it was worse or better.

Jackal leaned back in his chair and stretched. Your eyes caught a glimpse of the toned body beneath the fine black tunic. But you tore your eyes away just as Jackal glanced at you.

“You’ve been rather quiet…Oh, right, I told you to shush. You can talk now. I don’t need to think for a bit.”

“I was going to say to get your hands off me.” You snapped. Suddenly finding an urge to speak now Jackal told you so. “Don’t ever touch me again.”

“But you’re so soft and warm.” Jackal practically purred. His arms hanging over the back of his chair as he stared at you. And this time, he really stared at you. With an intensity that had you looking away and a fresh wave of heat flooding your center. And that little nibble of his bottom lip was an added unfair flare.

“You’re disgusting.” You mumbled.

“I’m sure you'll change your mind eventually.” Jackal chuckled. The molten copper turned sharp once more as he returned them to the desk full of freshly scrawled paper. “If you were literate I’d have you read these so I can rest my eyes. But you’re unfortunately not that useful.”

“I can read.” You hissed and Jackal rolled his eyes. Lowering his arms so they came to rest on the desk.

“Can you read dwarvish?” Jackal asked. Then he clicked his tongue when you huffed a curse at him and turned your head away again. “Like I said, illiterate. Shame…it would have been cute having you sit on my lap while you read this over.”

“Fuck off.”

Jackal laughed and sighed. The breath was heavy as it filled his lungs. “I better get you to your cell before I let your arousal do anymore to me. Get up, little flower. And stay close. Maahes is wandering the halls looking for a chance to drag you under him again. And Hezirus is busy ensuring the court doesn’t devour you through the night. So, I’m all you have keeping you alive until we get you to your cage.”

You stood before your mind could think of doing so. And then you were walking beside Jackal through the palace, a step behind him. “What is stopping Maahes from…getting in my..cage?” It sounded weird to say. And you dearly hoped it wasn’t going to be a cage in the middle of a room like the one you appeared in.

“Hezirus.” Jackal replied, as a matter of factly. “Our prince holds alot of power. And not even a Drake as powerful as Maahes can disobey his orders while in his own home. He’ll try to lure you to his bed chambers, or the floor, I’m sure. But as long as you keep saying ‘no’, you’ll be safe.”

“That’s all that is stopping him from…you know…”

“Words hold more power here than your world, sweet flower. And Hezirus has explicitly ordered your words are the rules to your body. So, be mindful when speaking to anyone here. It might save your life.”

You trailed alongside Jackal as he took you deeper into the palace. Down even more stairs and corridors, until he stopped outside of a steel door. You weren’t stupid. This was a dungeon, deep under the palace. You could smell bile and filth from the other locked rooms. And the air was cold and thick.

But there were no guards here. Only the flickering torches along the walls and the soft, pained whimpering of the other prisoners.

“I had your cell cleaned before I brought you down here.” Jackal said. As if his words made it all better as the door to the cell opened without him touching it. Revealing a cramped, dark room. A cot was pushed into the corner. Merely a wooden pallet with hay stuffed into the crevasses and a thin blanket covering the splintering wood.

The pillow looked thin and splotched with gray marks.

“I’m going to freeze down here.” You said. Pulling at the stretchy material of your outfit. “This is barely going to keep me warm.”

“That’s Hezirus’ problem, not mine.” Jackal replied.

Then a hard cold force slammed into you and you stumbled into the cell. The door creaked shut and you heard a lock click into place. You rushed to the door as Jackal opened the little slit, allowing you to see his copper eyes through the darkness.

“Whenever Hezirus remembers his pet is down here, I’m sure he’ll provide you with all the best luxuries your little human body needs.” Jackal said with a roll of his bright eyes. “I, however, do not have time to babysit you at every minute. So, you’ll sit down here, in the dark, like a good girl until things settle. My servants swarm this place, so you’re safe. Just don’t make too much noise. Or you’ll attract some unwanted attention. Get some sleep, little flower. You’ll need it for tomorrow.”

You beat your fists against the door as the slit slid closed. Calling after Jackal in a colorful array of words and sentences. Some even got an impressed whistle out of the spy-master before you heard his boots disappear.

You retreated from the door when someone screamed from a nearby cell. The whispering laughter of shadows echoed through the darkness in response.

You went to the cot. The wood creaked under your weight as you curled up against the corner of the room. Gathering the thin blanket around you. Ignoring the itchiness from the hay and tried very hard not to think of bugs crawling in your hair or down along your arms.

You tried to stay awake. Something was moving beyond the cell door but it never came any closer. Someone would scream or start crying. Another would start begging. Only to be silenced by a harsh hiss that made your blood run cold.

You curled up tighter and closed your eyes. Hoping the sun would scatter the shadows when it rose.

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